


HALF LIVES

by Binaryalchemist



Series: HALF LIVES, WHOLE LIVES, OUR LIVES (post-mangaverse) [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon - Anime Dub, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Fullmetal Alchemist Ending Spoilers, M/M, Romance, Yaoi, fma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 08:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 95,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binaryalchemist/pseuds/Binaryalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years have passed since the manga's end-life in Resembool has not gone well and Ed has the scars to prove it, seeking healing and refuge in his work at Central Command…but Roy Mustang refuses to see Ed suffer any longer...(Yaoi romance, references to Ed and Winry's divorce)<br/>NOTE: Series has Very Short Chapters --written as a weekly serial series after the conclusion of the Manga and FMA Brotherhood</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'Don't Wait Up..."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rueme](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rueme).



Half Lives, Chapter 1: "Don't Wait Up"  
By the Binary Alchemist, 2010  
(A Gift Fic for Rueme for her amazing artwork)  
It wasn't the first time he woke her out of a sound sleep. "And if it goes on like this," Pinako grumbled under her breath as she fumbled under the bed for her slippers. "one of these days it's going to be the last."  
"Wha—what's with the razor?" Ed looked alarmed as the old woman began stropping the thin blade against a leather strap.  
"Gotta shave some of it off before I stitch it up. Go wash the blood out. I need to be able to see what I'm doing."  
Ed cast uneasy eyes towards the stairs. "I'll….use the pump outside."  
Dark eyes narrowed. "Freezing out there."  
Gold eyes held her own. "Colder up there."  
"Suit yourself." She tapped a fingerfull of tobacco into her pipe and drew in a mouthful of smoke. She nodded to the valise on the floor. "Did you even say goodbye to Maes and Nina?"  
"I….stopped by their room. And I'll write them when I get to Central."  
His hand was on the doorknob before her tone made him pause. "It's none of my business, Ed—"  
He turned, smiling faintly. "But you're gonna tell me what you think of me anyway, right, Granny?" Somehow, this was going to hurt worse than the blow to his head that left him dizzy and nauseated, the blood still oozing into his bright hair.  
A wreath of smoke encircled her impassive face, but there was regret and sympathy in her eyes. "I tried to tell her, Ed. All those years—I told her to go out and find a good man who'll stick around. Someone whose life isn't so…involved. Or dangerous. I raised you like a son. Maybe if she'd gone out and met some other young men…"  
"Yeah." Ed answered softly. "But there's two kids up there now. No matter what, I will take responsibility. I ain't doin' to them what that bastard did to me and Al."  
Just before he stuck his head under the pump her voice carried out to him in the frosty darkness. "Edward…the only thing worse than losing a parent is having to lie in bed and listen to your parents tear each other to pieces."  
"Or in stitches," he added to the night sky, before plunging his head under the icy water, choking back a cry of pain as the jagged wound began to bleed again.

On the train he asked for a couple of cloth napkins and a glass of ice from the dining car. "Sorry sir—it's after midnight. The dining car is—oh, my!" The porter noticed the livid, freshly stitched wound and the bare patch of bruised scalp. "Are you all right, sir?"  
"Accident back in Resembool," the traveler answered wearily. "Could you just see if they've got anything…anything at all. I'll be seeing my doctor once I get to Central."  
Ten minutes later a different porter returned with an improvised compress—cracked ice neatly tied up in a parcel of several napkins. He also brought a small glass of brandy and two aspirins….and a look of sympathetic recognition. "Good to see you again, Mr. Elric. Heading back to Central Command again, sir?"  
Ed nodded, then winced, reaching gratefully for the compress. "The Fuhrer telegrammed last night. Can't wait until morning." The aspirins were gulped down and he grimaced slightly as the alcohol burned its way down to the pit of his nervous stomach. He didn't know what was worse sometimes—the words or the blows. Bruises and black eyes and whacks to the head healed faster than the growing sickness in his guts when angry words and accusations and nagging and the endless guilt ripped up his insides as surely and as accurately as one of Uncle Rockbell's surgical scalpels.  
Damn.  
He would do the right thing. She wanted him. She got him.  
She wanted the white picket fence. The kids. The whole goddamned starry-eye'd fantasy of story books and cheap romance magazines.  
Amestrians do the right thing. They marry. They have kids. They settle down, wear ties, become pillars of the community. Become stodgy and respectable.  
On the outside.  
Behind closed doors, though….it didn't always work. You couldn't suggest otherwise but it was hard to hide the affairs, the drunkenness, the fighting…no…one didn't just walk away in little villages like Resembool. Men stayed in the pubs. Women slapped their bread dough in the kitchen, wishing it was someone's face. They sliced sausage and smiled, imagining they were whacking off an offending penis that either sought refuge between friendlier thighs…or in Ed's case, slunk away in terror and defeat from the touch that had caused him so much pain. Pain to the body. Pain to the heart. Pain that the bargain hadn't been enough. Half my life. That was the bargain. But you were never satisfied, were you? Just like when you tore my watch apart to pry out my secret. Just like when you stripped me naked in the streets of Rush Valley to show me off to those strangers. Buy me this. Take me there. I want children. When are you coming back ? Damn you, Ed. Are you coming to bed or are you just going to sit the study and read all night?  
He tugged out his old alchemic journal. "Yes," he answered aloud to the voice that was undoubtedly being raised in fury kilometers away. He glanced at his watch. The Fuhrer was an early riser and the coffee at the Palace was always good. "Yes, I am. Don't wait up."  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…..


	2. CHAPTER 2: BLOOD AND FIRE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY : Ed arrives six weeks in Central early for his assignment—and three sheets to the wind. At least that’s what Roy thought until he saw the Xrays Dr. Knox had taken after Ed collapsed in the Presidential Reception Room.,,,

Half Lives, Chapter 2: Blood and Fire  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

By 4:45 the fragrance of fresh brewed coffee had drifted up the stairs, crept under the bedroom door and thick black lashes fluttered against a cheek that was paler and a little thinner than it had been five years ago when he fumbled blindly for his morning cup, spilling it on his pants and scalding his leg. That was before his bargain with Dr. Marcoh. That was before their years in Ishbal with Miles and Scar. That was before Grumman decided to finally retire to chase younger women. Before the telegram from Olivier that she had concluded he probably wouldn't screw up Amestris too badly but he would never run the country with her efficiency and strength—oh, and that she had concluded that the pitiful attempt at a mustache was merely the unsavory stains left from kissing every ass up the chain of command to finally land behind the Fuhrer's desk for good. "I've heard you referred to as 'Shitlips'. Appropriate, that. "  
That mustache—what there was of it—twitched. He sneezed. Palace or not, it was fucking cold in here. January in Central was wet and miserable. His old wounds ached—something Colonel Hawkeye would undoubtedly anticipate, fetching him a bottle of aspirin along with his morning reports.  
Instead, she fetched him a former State Alchemist, who was dripping wet, shivering and grey faced…and promptly threw up on his neatly polished boots before keeling over, face down into the plush carpet of the Reception Room.  
"Very amusing, Edward," the Fuhrer growled. "Show up six weeks ahead of your assignment and three sheets to the wind. Colonel Hawkeye?"  
"Sir?"  
"Get him out of here. Put him to bed in the guest wing and sober him up, then send him back to Resem-what the hell?"  
Hawkeye nodded. "Blood, sir. And sutures."  
Roy knelt quickly and laid his hand over Ed's brow. He was icy cold, grey faced and his breathing was shallow. "Shit," he breathed softly, "Edward…what happened to you?"  
Somewhere between shit and Edward a phone appeared at his elbow. "Knox!" His Excellency Fuhrer President Mustang bellowed into the receiver. "Get your ass up here now!"

 

The security detail was anxious. The hospital staff was nervous. His Excellency was prowling up and down the hall of the triage wing with a furious scowl twisting his handsome features. "Cup of coffee, sir?" Major Breda offered. "I could get you some crackers from the vending—the cafeteria's not open yet." He dug in his pocket for spare change. I've got—lessee—maybe 520 cens. Or if you want to wait I'll get you a sweet roll or something."  
Five hundred and twenty cens. Roy felt sick.  
"Don't you die on me, Edward," he whispered, glaring at the swinging doors where Edward had been rushed through over an hour ago. "You haven't paid me back yet…."  
"Seen it a million times." Knox jammed a cigarette into the corner of his mouth before flipping on the light box.  
"Tell me what I'm looking for." Roy leaned in close blinking.  
"Your glasses, Sir?" Hawkeye prompted.  
An impatient hand snatched them from her. "All right, now tell me what the hell I'm looking for."  
"This. Blunt force trauma" A nicotine-stained finger tapped an area circled with a white grease pencil on the radiograph image. The sutures stood out in bright contract to the grey and black shadows of the skull. "Linear fracture—what you call a hairline fracture. He's damned lucky. There's no displacement of bone fragments. Some concern about subdural hematoma—that's that area there. Might have to put a temporary drain in just in case. I'm admitting him."  
"All right."  
"Somebody beat the hell out of him. Somebody cleaned his wound and stitched him up. Good job of it." His eyes narrowed. "Know anything about that?"  
Roy evaded the question. "Is he conscious?" Something in the tone of Roy's voice made Knox look glance over at him sharply.  
"Yeah. He's awake." He straightened his glasses and sniffed. "Did you call the family?"  
"I came straight here," Roy answered. "I haven't had time."  
"Good. Don't." Knox tapped the circled xray for emphasis. "He's really worried about that. They get that way after concussion, see. Keep saying the same thing over and over and over. Passes, o'course. But he got real agitated when I asked him if I should call his wife."  
Roy began to sweat. If there had been coffee in his stomach it would have lurched unpleasantly. "I won't call her. What about Alphonse?"  
"Later, when we know more. No sense dragging him all the way across the desert if Ed' back on his feet in a week. Gimme about twenty minutes. Want to check his vitals again. Few more tests. Get some coffee and come back. Get some breakfast." Roy shook his head. "Fine. Get me some goddamn breakfast, then. Draggin' my ass outta bed on my day off…."  
His Excellency nodded meekly, but as he turned to go, Knox pinned up a second film. "By the way, Mustang," he rumbled. "It's happened before. Might wanna ask him about that sometime."  
Mustang, Hawkeye and Breda avoided each others eyes for several uncomfortable minutes. "Your orders, Sir?" Hawkeye ventured quietly.  
"Send Denny Brosh to the cafeteria when it opens. Hotcakes, scrambled eggs, double order of sausage, tomato juice with worchestershire sauce and a large coffee for Dr. Knox. "Make sure the eggs aren't too runny."  
"Yes Sir!"  
"Breda!"  
"Sir?"  
"Get Ed's stuff up to his usual room. Get his stuff unpacked, then get him what he'll need for a week's stay here. He'll never forgive me if he's stuck in a hospital gown with his ass hanging out. Get some books from the library—anything on Grand Arcanum. That should keep him occupied. Oh," he added with a faint smile," have the chef send over a basket of strawberries. He'd rather have that than flowers."  
"Yessir!"  
He glanced at his bodyguards. "Ross? Guard this door with your life. If Knox needs me, get your ass to the cafeteria. Hawkeye, come with me…" He held up one hand in caution. ""After I go to the head."  
"Yes Sir!"

 

The restroom was empty. He turned on the faucets to mask the sound.  
He locked himself in the stall at the far end, sat down fully clothed and buried his face in his hands. "Maes," he whispered to his personal saint—the only saint he would ever acknowledge. "what the fuck do I do now?"  
….TO BE CONTINUED….


	3. NO EASY ANSWERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winry awakes to find Edward has left her-this time for good--and to be confronted with the aftermath of her outburst. Roy recalls a chilling confession from Alphonse—and Ed discovers that friendship doesn’t require logic or explanation—it’s as simple as a hand clasp in the dark

Half Lives, Chapter 3: No Easy Answers  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

"You left a mess on the kitchen table. Clean it up before the kids get up."  
She was wound tight and slamming the cabinet doors after snatching out her coffee cup. She noticed his was in the sink. She had also noticed that his valise—the one he never unpacked anymore—was gone from the hall closet. Again.  
After that fight last night, she scowled, he'd better have gotten the hell out of here.

It had been about sex—the lack thereof, specifically. She complained. He ignored her. She cried, he became preoccupied with the kids or something. She threatened finding satisfaction elsewhere. "Don't pass 'em off as mine," he answered coolly.  
Then she played her ace in the hole, so to speak. She threatened to make an automail dildo. Something that would give her satisfaction when Ed couldn't—or wouldn't—be bothered.  
The son of a bitch didn't even glance up from his notes. "Patent it, will you? Probably make a fortune."  
She sat up all night and all the next afternoon crafting it. It was a masterpiece. It whirred. It squirmed. It purred. And it was bigger than Ed's.  
She barged into his study and held it up for his inspection. One golden eyebrow lifted. The smile was ironic—infuriating. "Have fun," he said cheerfully. "Maybe I can get some goddam work done now without you nagging the hell out of me."  
The polished steel toy caught him right upside the temple. It wriggled and purred and squirmed in her hand as she stomped off and slammed the bedroom door behind her. The lock clicked. She crawled under the covers with her new invention and was so gratified with the results she never heard him stagger down the steps. Never heard him angrily insist to Pinako he did not need an xray. Didn't hear him slip into the nursery to tenderly kiss his son and daughter goodbye before heading out into the cold.

"You left a mess on the kitchen table. Clean it up before the kids get up."  
A pile of golden hair, rusty with crusted blood. A suture pack, used. Wads of bloody gauze. A vial of Lidocaine and a 27-gage syringe and an alcohol pad, soaked red.  
His blood. Her mess.  
She sat down rather quickly. Eventually, she found her voice. "Where—"  
Pinako cut her off. "Does it matter? After this?. Clean it up. Maes doesn't need to see this."  
Tears slipped down her cheek as she swept the mess into the waste basket. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," she whispered angrily to the bloody gauze, the strands of hair, the suture needle that had pierced his skin. Upstairs she could hear the contented gurgle of little Nina. Probably getting her toes tickled by her adoring older brother, who was now giggling too. Soon he'd toddle down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. He'd notice the vacant chair at the breakfast table and say, "Da? Where Da?"  
And she couldn't have told him, even if she knew…

 

In the old days—not that long ago, really—Roy would have shouted. Ed would have shouted back. They would have hurled insults at one another. Roy would have tried to pull rank. Ed would have given him the finger and stomped off, Alphonse stammering out some sort of apology for his brother's rudeness before bowing and chasing off behind him. That was typical of his relationship with the Fullmetal Alchemist.  
Only the Fullmetal Alchemist didn't exist anymore.

The man who replaced Fullmetal was tall, almost a fraction taller than the Fuhrer. He hadn't quite filled out from his growth spurt. For much of his life, half of what he ate, half of his rest—half of his life had been sustaining his brother's physical body inside the Gate. His right arm was still less muscular but Ed had dispensed with the gloves, although his gait still creaked and clanked a bit. He had asked Truth nothing for himself. Al and Mei had given him back his arm against his will. Since he had not asked, his leg was gone for good. After all, he had joked, he now had a lifetime service agreement with his mechanic.  
His face was sharper. Thinner. And over the past few years the fire had dulled in his eyes.  
Oh, his laugh was easy—often ironic. But as the years passed there was something hard to define, like a wall that he was hastily constructing between himself and his old friends…even Alphonse. "I don't get it," Alphonse had confided in a private talk at the Presidential Palace two years ago. "I'm not saying Ed's becoming…I don't know…antisocial. He just…doesn't let himself get close anymore."  
Roy had nodded. "Well…he is married now. Things change—or so I've been led to understand."  
Alphonse shook his head. "It's not—it's not like that, Sir. We were…we were a team. You know. Before. Everything's changed now." He took a nervous sip of his coffee. "I don't go home much anymore.. It doesn't feel like—home."  
Roy had glanced at Colonel Hawkeye. A brisk nod and she stepped quietly out of the room, closing the door behind her. "Nothing you tell me leaves this room, Alphonse. Talk to me."

Hesitantly, and then with rushing emotion, Alphonse broke his silence. "I know Winry loves Brother. And he does care about her. But sometimes…." He bowed his head. "They fight. They get on each other's nerves. Oh, they don't do it in front of the kids. But she just…she gets after him. I mean, she knew what he was like from the start, right? Things weren't going to change. Getting married doesn't flip some switch in the brain and make you somebody different. You just see more of who they really are. Sometimes that's good….and sometimes its not. She gets on him about traveling. She gets on him about not being much use around the house—that he's always got his nose in a book, that he tunes her out. I mean, he's great with the kids—and he tries, Sir. He really does. But…he's Ed, you know? And Ed really gets on her nerves. And sometimes—"  
Al went silent. Roy realized he was holding his breath. "Go on…"  
Al bowed his head. "I saw her slap him with her welding gloves. They were in the workshop. He was taking me to town, back to the station. I didn't hear any yelling but when I walked through the door she just…she…she backhanded him with her gloves. And she told him to go on, go running off like he always does. 'Not like you're any use around here. You can't even change a diaper right or fix anything without alchemy. Maybe if you could get it up for me once in a while—'" Alphonse broke off and pushed his flushed face into his palm. His shoulders began to shake. "And….and he didn't say a word. Not a word. He just turned around and walked away."  
Roy's mouth was suddenly dry. He swallowed a mouthful of cold coffee, then rose, stepping around the tea table to stand beside his friend. His arm rested across the younger man's shoulder. "Go on," he urged gently. "Nobody else needs to know about this."  
He passed Alphonse his handkerchief. He waited, fuming inwardly, outwardly quiet and reserved.  
At last Alphonse blew his nose, scrubbed at his eyes and continued. "We headed into town early. Ed said he wanted to do some shopping for the kids. I helped him pick out some toys for Maes and a little dress for Nina. He had them wrapped up and paid for them to be delivered to Rockbell's Automail. While we were sitting in the coffee shop I could see this bruise starting to come out on his jaw. Ed didn't say a word, just kept on chatting about Alkahestry and my research. When I went to the restroom, he must have gone to get a timetable. He was studying it when I got back. One he got me on the train…I …I looked out the window and he was at the ticket kiosk, pulling out his wallet." His shoulders sagged. "I heard later he was gone for three months."  
There was a prolonged silence. Then a hand squeezed Alphonse' shoulder firmly.  
"I had some suspicions things were not going well."  
Al blinked up, flushed and worried. "Oh, Sir—you're not going to-"  
Roy cut him of with an understanding nod. "No. I'm not going to interfere. Ed wouldn't thank me and he'd know who told me. However," he straightened up, adjusting the collar that had suddenly made his throat so tight, "If he needs me, I will be here. If he needs to talk, I will listen. If she needs help—I'll find it for her. Discretely. Same for him. Our first concern is the children. Do you think-"  
Al looked horrified. "No. Never. Granny's there. If she thought Winry-but she won't. It's Ed she's so frustrated with."  
The Fuhrer looked thoughtful. "Interesting. She made him an arm. She built him a leg. Sounds like in all that time when she should have been focusing on her apprenticeship she was building an Edward Elric in her mind—a fantasy. Girls who discover their hormones do it all the time. So do men. She built a fantasy image of Edward and eventually got Ed to try to be that person…only it was a bad fit, it seems. But no matter how much she complains or cried—or uses force in her arguments—Ed is still Ed. That won't change. If she can't accept that…." He sighed heavily. "She's not a child. She's a grown woman. Ed's within his rights to press charges against her. I don't care if it's woman against man or man against woman-there are no excuses for violence. Fantasies be dammned. I expected better from her,"  
Al nodded, comprehending. "Mei did the same thing with Ed, and then hated his guts for not being this guy she made up in her imagination. Then she did the same thing to me. At least now she's over that. She's getting to know the real me…and maybe someday….it could work. We'll see. But it's too late for Ed."  
Roy's face was impassive. "We'll see, as you say. And Alphonse?"  
"Sir?"  
A hand was offered. The younger man looked baffled. "From now on….I'm just Roy."

 

His head hurt like a sonovabitch. His stomach churned some, burned some, like it always did the first days away. He should have been sitting by the river reading a story book to Maes, his small body curled up on his lap, chubby fingers twined in his father's thick gold ponytail. He should be carrying Nina piggyback through the meadow, a single wildflower half crushed in her tiny hand to lay on Granny Trisha's grave. There were letters to write, books to study, maps to pour over, theories to research.  
And a wife to…cope with.  
It hurt. They did what was expected. All it did was push them apart further and further. He got a wife.  
He missed his sister. His best friend other than Alphonse. In hindsight, Al would have been the wiser choice—he was a perfect balance for her, but she never noticed him. That was why Al left for Xing. To mend his heart until he could look on Winry again as a sister—not as someone he could have cherished with the whole of his heart.  
Now he was stuck in the hospital for a week under dire threat from Dr. Knox: "Getouttathatbed," he growled, "and I'll cuff ya to the rails. Goddamn kid, don't know how to take care of yourself!" He protested that this was bullshit. "I didn't hit my head that hard," he barked back.  
Then Knox shoved the radiographs on the wall mounted light box, flipped the switch and scared Edward Elric to death. "You want a tube in your head, boy? Maybe brain damage from post concussion syndrome? Lie down. Shut up. Don't give me any more shit. His Nibs will be along shortly."  
No uniform. No secretaries trotting behind him with steno pads. Even Hawkeye stayed outside. This was just…Mustang. A tired looking man who pulled a chair close and laid his hand on Ed's shoulder, his expression a peculiar mixture of relief and a strange quiet calm that was completely unlike the bastard he'd known and squabbled with for years.  
"Ed. You're going to be all right. Thank god."  
Ed's eyes widened. "Shit. I must really be fucked up."  
"Why?"  
"You said the G-word." He chuckled a little, stopping when his head began throbbing again. "Yeah. When can I get outta here? I figured…well…might as well get on to that business in Aerugo we talked about. Y'know…that trip to see Claudio. Nobody's let anyone into those palace archives."  
"You're six weeks early, Ed."  
Ed couldn't meet his Fuhrer's eyes. "Yeah. Well…y'know how it is…can't stand to be sitting on my ass…"  
"And you'll spend those six weeks here. In Central. At the Palace. Recuperating."  
"What the fu—owwwwshitfuckgoddam!" Ed grabbed at his head.  
Roy's next words were very soft. "Whatever happened, it hurt you worse than you realized at the time. I'm not going to pry. But soon as you get out, I've got your old quarters ready. You can do research without half-killing yourself. I'll get Falman and Sheska to assist. Besides," he added with a quiet smile. "Chess is the national game in Aerugo. You haven't beaten me yet. Now's your chance before you meet with Claudio."  
Ed grimaced. The pain was getting worse. Meds must be wearing off. "Don't 'spose it will kill me."  
Roy smiled. "Get some rest. I'll be right here if you need me."  
"What?" Blonde brows knitted together. "Lemme get this straight. His Exhalted Assholiness, Fuhrer Shitlips the First….is gonna be my nurse tonight?"  
"Your gown has no back and you toss in your sleep. Would you rather have Hawkeye see your bare ass or me?"  
Ed flushed right up to his hairline, yanked the covers up to his nose and mumbled about more morphine. Chuckling, Roy pushed the call button.

 

When the pain woke Ed again around five o'clock, he became aware of a strong hand resting on his arm. Fuhrer Shitlips-no…Roy…was snoring gently in the chair beside his bed. Why the hell does he even give a shit? But somehow the comfort of that hand and that presence eased that awful gnawing in his guts—just a little—and he drifted back to sleep. The pain didn't seem quite as bad as it had been before that hand felt him move—and it squeezed gently, as if to remind Ed of the promise. I'm here if you need me…  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…..


	4. A HAND TO HOLD ON TO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy is unsatisfied with Ed’s quality of care…and uses some rather unsavory methods of intimidation with the nursing staff—and a bedpan—to make his point. Winry begins to realize that Pinako is not going to bail her out when the pressures of a full time job and two cranky children are more than she can handle by herself. And Ed and Roy finally discuss Roy’s love and loss of Maes Hughes…

HALF LIVES, Chapter 4: A Hand To Hold On To  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

Somebody called Code in the hospital.  
Thankfully, it wasn't on Edward.  
However, around 7am as Roy was getting ready to head back to his office, there was a dilemma that Ed couldn't manage without a little…assistance.  
"I gotta take a dump."  
Roy was shaving at the sink. Patting his cheeks dry, he surveyed his moustache critically. Surely…surely the damned thing would fill out eventually. If Ed could grow taller—wasn't that proof that nothing was truly impossible? "Ring for the nurse," he answered and pulled a comb out of his pocket, sweeping his bangs back so they would look neat under his cap.  
"I did. Twice. An hour ago. " Ed squirmed uncomfortably against the sheets, looking embarrassed. "Fuck it—I'm just gonna get out of bed—"  
Roy snapped around smartly. "Get back in that bed. That's a order."  
Ed shifted and there was a rather impressive rumble from under the thin cotton blanket. "I'm not kidding," he warned.  
"Neither am I," Roy informed him. "Knox was not joking about the risk of post-concussion risk—or about that hematoma. You want him to come in here and drill a hole in your skull, suck out the clot and leave a rubber tube hanging out of the side of your head? It could happen." He disappeared inside the small bathroom and returned with a steel pan, which he warmed under running water in the sink, dried carefully and then handed over to the younger man. "I'll give you some privacy." He also gave him a roll of lavatory paper. "I'll be outside. Let me know when you're done."  
Roy nodded, stepped outside, closing the door behind him. "Sir? How is Edward?" Hawkeye asked, handing him a cup of coffee. He was about to swallow a mouthful before answering when there was a loud, rude sound that echoed from the closed room behind him. Punchy with exhaustion, he snortled with laughter and the coffee dribbled out his nose, soaking his mustache. Hawkeye passed him a handkerchief without comment.  
"Well," he chuckled weakly, "a good politician can convince a crowd that horse shit smells like roses."  
There was a clang and a curse on the other side of the door. "GODDAMNIT!"  
Hawkeye froze. Then she saluted her superior officer. "Consider it good training for coping with Prince Claudio, Sir!"

 

Ed looked terrified. "Where's the damn nurse! I told you to get the nurse!"  
Roy shook his head. "Somebody went into cardiac arrest down the hall. So it's either me…or Colonel Hawkeye. All things considered…" he trailed off, smirking inwardly at Edward's horrified expression at the thought of the dignified Colonel Hawkeye having to confront what he was still concealing under the sheets.  
"After all the things I've seen on the battlefield, the contents of your bedpan are hardly likely to be that intimidating," he quipped mildly, whisking the offensive item away and heading for the door.  
"Hey!" Ed shouted in panic. "The bathroom's over there, idiot!"  
"Yes," Roy nodded sagely. "And the nurse's station is out there. As large as this facility is, I can't believe not one single nurse or orderly could answer your bell. So I'm bringing them a little…reminder…that they need to be perhaps a bit more dedicated to their duties."  
As he marched out, Hawkeye marched in. "That son of a bitch is crazy!" Ed shouted, then lowered his voice. His head was throbbing..  
Colonel Hawkeye nodded. "Considering he never left your side all night, I'd agree."  
"No…no he didn't," Ed considered, easing back against the pillows.

 

"Good morning." In the smoking veranda several varieties of cigarettes hit the paved picnic area walkway in astonishment as His Excellency, Fuhrer President Roy Mustang marched up the path bearing a gleaming steel bed pan. An unpleasant aroma wafted up the breeze to precede him.  
They leaped to their feet in respect, dropping their smokes and knocking over their coffee and sweet rolls. The brimming bedpan clanged down onto the table in the midst of their breakfast. "I've checked the duty roster," The Fuhrer told them pleasantly. "I know who is supposed to be out here enjoying the sunrise—it's a fine morning, isn't it?—and who is skiving off on the clock. This is a military hospital. There would be some rather unpleasant consequences if I actually saw anyone skiving off. So I strongly suggest you return to your duties so my friend and colleague Edward Elric won't have to go through the misery of waiting an hour when he's unable to get up and relieve himself. And if you would neglect my personal friend and colleague I would be quite concerned about how any less renown patients are being treated." He gave them a smile that was warm, genuine….and full of unspoken threats. "Have I made myself clear?"

 

Two minutes later a half dozen nurses rushed into Ed's room, falling all over themselves. Would he like his bed bath now? Some more orange juice? A back rub? Fluff his pillows?  
"Well…for starters you can wipe my ass," Ed mumbled, flushing with embarrassment and pulling the covers over his head as Hawkeye hastily retreated back to the hall. She was nearly run over by a very nervous looking young man pushing the Hospitality Cart full of magazines, books, a big bucket of cracked ice and an assortment of fresh fruits. "Mr. Elric! Mr. Elric!" the volunteer panted nervously outside the door.  
"Mr. Elric is having his bath now," Hawkeye informed him. "I'm sure the rest of the patients down the hall would appreciate it if you stopped by…at least occasionally." Pulling her sidearm, she flipped open the breach, inspecting the chamber nonchalantly before snapping it home. "Get going."  
"Yes, Ma'am!"  
Roy sauntered up behind her. "You just love doing that."  
"No Sir. I just assumed the other patients would appreciate some ice in their pitchers and one of those twelve year old dog-eared copies of The Amestrian Angler or Crochet Monthly."  
"Hmmmm…you could be right." He stroked the ends of his mustache thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should donate a subscription to TITillations in Mr. Havoc's name….."

 

Nina was fussy all morning. She squawked and squalled and no amount of lullabies or rocking could soothe the child. There were over a dozen repair orders on her work bench. Maes had gotten into a bucket of ball bearing and gleefully dumped them down the hall, pinging them all over like the most wonderful assortment of shiny marbles he'd ever seen. Granny's boot had hit one as she came down the hall with a basket of fresh laundry, and she went down like a rock, smacking her elbow hard against the doorjamb. "Looks like I'd better rest it for the day," she sighed, a bag full of frozen peas pressed against the bruise. "You'll have to finish that new ankle I was fabricating last night before I had to drop everything and stitch up Edward."  
"All right," she grunted as she crawled down the hall, scooping up the treacherous little spheres that were sure to invite more people to slip and crash. She accidentally knelt on one and yelped in pain. "When's he coming to be fitted?"  
"Two o'clock."  
"TWO O'CLOCK?" Winry cast frantic eyes towards the clock. It was half-past eleven. "Granny—can you watch the kids while I-"  
Pinako puffed serenely on her pipe for several moments before answering. "You know…I'd better get old Doc Gibbs to take a look at this—just to be sure. I'll have Jonas drive me into town. Probably have a nice lunch while we're in town. Want me to pick up anything for you?"  
Winry looked like she'd been saved. "YES! Get me a baby sitter! That would let me get this work done—"  
"No." Pinako tapped her pipe for quiet emphasis. "You were the one that wanted to have children right away when you weren't even twenty yet. You were the one who didn't want to wait a couple of years like anyone with common sense. You were all in a big rush. Ed had sense enough to want to wait, but no….you threw caution to the wind. And since you didn't give Ed any reason to stay, I guess you'll have to handle this by yourself."

 

It was nearly seven o'clock when Roy arrived for the evening. He had brought a small overnight case for himself, a more comfortable pillow for Ed and a big covered bowl of freshly washed and hulled strawberries. Ed opened his eyes slowly. The pain was really damned bad. He was dizzy and tired and nauseous, but Dr. Knox was still concerned about a small blood clot in the last set of x-rays. "Shut up. Stay in bed. Stay out of trouble and I'll let you know in the morning if I need to drill a hole in your head."  
"Got you a better pillow. The ones in here turn flat as pancakes. This should feel cooler."  
It was stuffed with goose down, fluffy and wonderfully soft. "Your taxpayer cenz at work, right?" he teased weakly.  
"No. This is from my own bed." Roy swapped the pillows out, taking Ed's old one and placing it on the fold out chair beside the bed. "I'll use that one."  
Ed was silent for a moment. "You're staying?"  
Roy unbuttoned his dress uniform coat. "You have any objections to that?"  
Ed considered, then shook his head gingerly. "No…I mean…yeah. S'okay. You gonna be comfortable," he jerked his thumb towards the fold out chair, "in that thing?"  
"I'm out of the nurse's way when they check on you," he answered. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to change into something a bit less confining…"  
Ed sighed and settled back again. The pillow felt like heaven under his aching head…so soft. And it smelled like…  
…like Roy's shampoo, and also kinda like that sort of sandalwood and cinders smell he associated with Mustang. Roy didn't wear cologne but must've showered with some kind of exotic soap. Maybe. It was kinda nice, he decided.

 

Roy emerged in a pair of loose, casual trousers, a t-shirt and slip-on shoes. His dog tags were tucked neatly into the overnight bag. "How about you, Ed? Need a fresh gown or a change of sheets?"  
"I'm good. Thanks."  
"Coffee?"  
"Nope. Where'd you get the berries?"  
Roy smiled and popped the lid off the glass bowl. The smell made Ed's mouth water and he helped himself to the tangy fruit. "Chef Ramsay. He's over the kitchens at the palace. Disagreeable son of a bitch but when it's two a.m. and your desk is covered with unsigned papers and you'd kill for a good corned beef on rye with a cold beer, he's a genius. I find I can put up with a lot when the food's this tasty. Help yourself. I told him they were your favorites."  
Ed nibbled a few, then laid the bowl aside. "What's the matter? Not like you to pick at your food. Normally by now you'd have eaten the pattern right off the china."  
Ed grimaced slightly. "Nah….I mean, they're good, but…I don't know. My stomach doesn't handle stuff so good anymore. Don't know why."  
Roy looked concerned. "You tell Knox?"  
Ed colored a little. "HE said it was…well…like I'm caving under….stress." That last word was a reluctant admission that made Roy's heart give a funny little jolt…

.  
"Roy! Don't you want some more pot roast? Gracia makes the most AMAXING pot roast—but then the little woman is AMAZING at everything she does!"  
"No….no thanks, Maes. My stomach is…it's been a little sour lately." Dr. Knox had told him the same damned thing. Stress. Part of it was Ishbal. Part of it was assuming higher rank at such a young age and having to fight to stay on top of the heap with dozens of other officers plotting to find a way to drag him down.   
And part of it—the biggest part, if he was being honest with himself—was being inflicted with Mae's tales of marital bliss.  
"Oh, man—it's the GREATEST!" the idiot cooed. "I don't know what's hotter—her chicken curry or her red hot lovin'—she is WICKED in the sheets, Roy! My own personal love goddess-"  
"HUGHES!"  
I remember your heat. The taste of you in my mouth, your chest molded against my back and the way each thrust made me grit my teeth into the pillow to keep from crying out and getting us caught. I remember making you crazy…that sensitive spot on your inner thigh you love to have kissed and licked…and god…when you turned those smoldering eyes on me and hook one long leg over my shoulder, inviting me inside…  
He had been so goddamned empty For so goddamned long. And he could see that same bleak desperation in Ed's eyes…only thing was, Ed had never known that kind of obsessive desire. From childhood he had lived for one thing and one thing only—the restoration of his brother. Al was the center of his universe, night and day, waking and sleeping. He had managed to restore Al to his body….and after two years of recuperation, Al had left him.  
And that's when Winry made her move.  
Roy supposed he couldn't blame her, much as he'd like to. He'd have done the same damn thing if there was a man he'd known himself to be attracted to who truly needed Roy's love and attention….

"Damn, my muscles hurt. Feel like somebody beat the crap out of me in my sleep last night."  
"I can help with that," Roy said very, very quietly. Can you sit up?"  
"Yeah."  
"Scoot over to the edge. I'll work on your shoulders. It'll help you sleep and ease some of the pain. Works like a charm. Maes…used to do this when I would get those tension headaches I used to get sometimes."  
Careful of the metal that was had been permanently attached to his bones, Roy began working his thumbs slowly into the rigid muscles in Ed's neck and shoulders. He stepped in closer. Closer than he had to. He could smell the antiseptic they had painted on his wound and the slightly bitter scent of unwashed hair. And a warm muskiness that made him back off a fraction so their bodies did not touch even as his fingers firmly kneaded the tautness into pliancy.  
"You and Hughes." It was like a shot in the dark.  
Roy had no reason to lie anymore. "Yes. Before he was married."  
"He got over you."  
Now it was Roy's stomach that ached a little. "Mostly."  
Ed glared at him. "What do you mean, mostly? You weren't—"  
"No. Most emphatically not. Once he'd made his choice….I did the honorable thing."  
Ed bit down on another strawberry. "I kinda wondered why your picture was up there with all the family and yet I never saw you set one foot inside that house."  
Roy gazed off into the distance, remembering green eyes glittering in the shadows of a tent in the field. The last time—that night before the wedding when they were both so incredibly drunk and he had let Maes ride him until he was aching inside and out, knowing that in a few hours—less than a day—he'd be riding Gracia the same goddamned way. How can you kiss her at the altar when I can still taste your come? Maes…god, you're killing me….  
"I loved him. More than anything." His words were simple. His sentences were short. Each one of them made Ed pay very close attention. "I let him go. I lost him. And when they taunted me—Pride and his bastards—told me they would gladly bring my lover back if I opened the Gateway….it hurt like hell to say no. No other choice."  
Silence. Ed cleared his throat. "Does Colonel Hawkeye know?"  
"She does now."  
Silence. "Oh." Silence. "That would explain a lot."  
"I'm sure it does."  
A long time after Roy thought Ed was asleep the younger man spoke again. "What about now. Anybody…?  
There was a quiet sigh. "If there is…or was…I…I think I would need to…want to know…if…"  
Silence. "If…what?"  
Roy didn't answer, just buried his face in Ed's old pillow.  
"If what, damn it?"  
The voice in the dark was one Ed hadn't heard since Roy sank to the ground in misery after Envy killed himself. The voice of a man outwardly tired, inwardly defeated.  
"If he gave a damn about me. Because if I thought for one goddamned moment that he cared…there's nothing on earth I wouldn't do for him. Including, " he added with a hint of irony, "accepting him for himself. Not casting him in the role of some romantic hero or idol. I'd take him, warts, bullshit, rotten temper…farts…and all."  
Silence.  
"Then shave off that goddamned hairlip. Looks fuckin' ridiculous."

 

At five-thirty the nurse flipped on the light to check Ed's vitals, bring him a bed pan, a tiny sip of cold juice and a pill and to let him know Dr. Knox was on his way. She brought a basin of warm, soapy water to the bedside and began to unwind Ed's bandage.  
Roy bolted upright and was on his feet in an instant. "You're putting the catheter in?"  
"It's a simple procedure. We do it in here. It won't take very long and that way if there is any bleeding we can be certain it doesn't cause further damage. You'll have to leave, Sir," she added respectfully.  
"The hell I will," Roy answered evenly. "I can sit on the other side. Will he be conscious?"  
Ed paled slightly and swallowed hard. "We'll give him a drip to relax him. It's very simple, Mr. Elric. You won't feel anything and it will ease those headaches. Dr. Knox really feels this is the best thing to do and says we should go ahead and get it done now."  
"Oh…okay," Ed stammered.  
"I'm not leaving." Roy's nodded to where his uniform coat hung on the peg by the door—and the stars on its shoulder boards. "This is a military facility. I am the Commander in Chief. If I say I'm staying…"  
"Y-yessir!" the nurse squeaked in terror, dashing off to inform Dr. Knox, who would undoubtedly ream her out six ways to Sunday and then attempt to tear Mustang a new orifice too.  
Roy moved everything out of the way, leaving the right side of the bed unobstructed. He rang up his office. "Colonel Hawkeye? Fullme—Edward is having surgery. I'll be here if you need me. Send a courier if there's paperwork to be signed. Otherwise, I'll call you in a few hours."

 

The side of his head burned—but the allover achiness had actually eased. There had been a tiny clot that was easily removed and there was almost no drainage. He was still on a drip with antibiotics and fluids but his color was good and although he was whacked out of his mind with morphine, he assessed his own condition and decided there was nothing worth worrying about-that was, until Al found out. His head might be safe from his brother's wrath—but his ears would be chewed to ribbons.  
He cracked one eye open at a soft snore beside him. Mustang. Still there…but, as he swiftly observed, not…intact.  
His upper lip was hairless once more.  
The mustache was gone. Roy was close by, his hand gripping Edward's as it had throughout the whole awful procedure.  
He grinned in the dark. Then his empty stomach rumbled, followed by low, whistle from the back of his gown, partly muffled by the mattress.  
"…there's nothing on earth I wouldn't do for him… I'd take him, warts, bullshit, rotten temper…farts…and all."  
He burrowed his face contentedly into the pillow that smelled of spice and smoke and sandalwood and drifted peacefully back to sleep.  
….TO BE CONTINUED…..


	5. BROTHERS AND (DAMN NEAR) MOTHERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphonse is summoned to Emperor Ling’s private chambers for a serious discussion about Ed’s future—too bad he got stuck with paying for the take out food and the beer. Meanwhile in Amestris, Ed gets some tough love from Madame Chistmas—and discovers that a part of him isn’t QUITE as dead as he’d been lead to believe…

HALF LIVES, Chapter 5: Brothers and Damn Near Mothers  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010

Cold and numb. Still breathing. That was hard to imagine, considering a part of his heart had just been cut out. Cut out and stomped on by a very small pair of shoes.

Alphonse—  
I am only contacting you so you will NOT worry. Your brother has not forbidden me to contact you. I think he's more afraid of your reaction than anything else. I need you to read this message completely—and call me at the number below before you set off for Resembool.  
The bottom line: Ed is recovering from a head injury. He had minor corrective surgery this morning to remove a small blood clot at the site of the injury. Medical terms: hairline fracture, small subdural hematoma. He is under the care of my personal physician, resting comfortably and either I or Colonel Hawkeye is at his bedside at all times. 

Ed has not openly admitted who injured him. Considering how neatly the wound was dressed and stitched I don't believe I need to spell it out to you. As far as I know no charges will be pressed. He had made it clear that he does not want his wife contacted, although I will find a discreet way to notify Pinako that he is receiving proper care. I doubt he allowed her to examine him for concussion—instead I'm guessing he left Resembool and headed straight to Central.

Alphonse…I now have a clearer understanding of your very real concerns about these two. For now, Ed is going to remain in Central recuperating…but decisions have to be made and I think it is vital for a third party to step in—someone who can be trusted to listen to both sides of the story. And since I'm being candid, I will explain why that intermediary cannot be me.

I care for your brother. More than I suspected. I have said nothing. I have no idea if he feels anything for me or can consider me as anything other than a friend or colleague. I haven't felt like this since I lost Maes…so I think you have some idea what I'm trying to convey here. But this is strictly up to Edward. I will say nothing, do nothing, and keep this strictly between the two of us unless he gives me any indication that it is mutual. Oh, and of course, Hawkeye has figured it out. Eerie, that. Regardless how he may feel about me, I am solidly on his side and will go to all lengths to make sure he and his children are safe. That is why I am urging you to please find some person who knows both Ed and Winry who can step in and give them a safe venue to talk honestly about this. Your brother—and his children—need this from you.  
-Roy

 

When he was summoned to the Throne Room, his face was still wet with tears. As was custom, he bowed respectfully before Emperor Ling but the expression on his old friend's face made it clear that protocol meant nothing between them—they were friends. Protocol kept the ministers from nagging Ling, that was all.  
The Emperor rose, his majestic scarlet silk robes half swallowing his youthful frame. "It is my desire to speak in private with Alphonse Elric. We will retire to the privy chamber. Lan Fan, you will guard the door after inspecting the room. Alphonse Elric, come with me."  
Once the door was shut, Ling shrugged out of his opulent gown, sprawling on the floor cushions in loose silk trousers and a lavishly embroidered tunic. "I'm famished!" he exclaimed. "I've sent out for Amestrian from that little place on Tsientsien Square. They say they'll have it delivered in about twenty minutes." He turned out his pockets with a sigh. "Any chance you can cover the tip?"  
His Celestial Grace Emperor Ling Yao licked the last of the spicy mustard off his thumb and drained his beer with gusto. "If I had made Winry a princess this never would have happened. How is Ed recovering? Hard to imagine anything denting that thick head of his."  
Al choked on his sandwich. "How the hell did you find out about Ed getting hurt?" he demanded angrily. The message from Mustang arrived by private courier in a sealed envelope, hand carried from the Amestrian Embassy.  
Ling belched unapologetically and reached in for another powdered sugar donut. "I'm the Emperor," he answered cheerfully, as if this explained everything.  
"You're not omniscient," Al shot back.  
"Nope!" the Emperor readily agreed. "But I've got damned good informants in every country, in every capitol."  
"You're spying on Roy!" This was unbelievable. Roy and Ling had worked so hard to establish trade routes and friendly relations between their two countries. "How could you do that?"  
Ling brushed the powdered sugar off his sleeve and then shoved a handful of fried chipped potatoes into his mouth. "Same way he does it to me. Everybody spies on everybody else. It's pretty open, really. I even sent his agents greeting cards and moon cakes on New Year's Day. And my spies run the Fuhrer's favorite restaurant—they say he's a chintzy tipper, though. They're threatening to put dog meat into his next order of Piaoxiang Beef if he isn't more generous in the future…."  
Alphonse gritted his teeth. "What about Brother? What do you know? Roy didn't say all that much."  
"Welllllll—" Ling splutted a puddle of oyster sauce in the middle of his plate to dunk his potatoes in. "Somebody in Resembool gave him a concussion and cracked his head—and somebody stitched him up before he took off. He's in the military hospital and had some surgery. Annnnnd," he waved a chipped potato for emphasis, "our friend with the very ugly mustache is sleeping in his room every night at the hospital. Presumably not in the same bed. They do refer to him behind his back as the Widow Hughes, though. Ed's rather attractive, I must admit, and if my tastes ran that way I might consider-"  
Al slammed his fists so hard on the table that Lan Fan peeked in to be sure everything was all right. "It's all my fault—don't you get it?" Al blurted out. "I was the one that left him. If I had stayed in Resembool…."  
"But that wasn't your destiny, was it?" Ling looked very serious for once. "It was right and fitting that you chose your own path in pursuit of wisdom to help others. It helped you grow. Unfortunately your brother's destiny has not turned out quite as he might have hoped. Edward and Winry are both of yang nature—too much alike. I could see that from the beginning. As siblings they could resolve this but they possess too similar natures. Like the poles of a magnet, eventually they repel each other. You are of yin nature, Alphonse—a perfect balance for either of them. Had Winry been less headstrong she would have recognized this and chosen you as her compliment. But yang souls can be obsessive—Edward obsessed himself with your restoration, healing and shielding you from the world when you returned to it. And Winry developed a romantic obsession with him that blinded her to the very qualities that made them unsuited. And I am not surprised that she conceived so quickly—no doubt this was deliberate—aided by some sympathetic village midwife or herbalist, no doubt. A woman in my country is taught to mind the rhythms of her body—the moisture between her thighs, the courses of her moons, what teas can enhance or make barren. Even in such a backwards nation as Amestris there are midwives who could tell her this. Yang can be controlling—even manipulative—when thwarted. I myself am of yin nature—my own calmness would have complimented her—"  
Al groaned and buried his face in his hands. This was worse and worse and Ling was not helping matters with his prattling about moon cycles and yin and yang. "If you can't help me, then—"  
"Oh but I can." Another donut vanished, this one covered with colorful sprinkles.  
"I can indeed—and I'm quite surprised at Edward for not seeking out this person."  
Al's head jerked up. "Who, for god's sake?"

 

"Roy-Boy told me you were stuck in bed with a busted melon."  
She was short. She was stout. Her hair was stubbornly black and her green eyes swept the room in an instant, quickly noting her adopted son's dressing gown folded neatly on the fold out chair and his slippers tucked neatly underneath and the fluffy pillow bearing the embroidered presidential crest on its hem. "'Bout damned time we formally met." She offered a plump bejeweled hand. "Chris Mustang. How the hell are you, Ed?"  
"So did it shock you to find out about Roy and Maes?" She didn't light her cigarette but toyed with the holder as she sipped a cup of coffee and Ed bit ravenously into the fresh bakery sweet rolls she had brought him. "Love is love, y'know. Sex don't matter. Male or female? Don't matter. You care for someone? You care. Understand?"  
"Yeah, I guess." Ed put down his fork, feeling queasy again.  
"You love your wife?" The green eyes locked onto his. "Honest now, son. There's caring—and then there's giving every last scrap of your heart to someone else. Letting them in, letting 'em fill up your spirit and live in you when they're gone." He didn't answer. "Yeah. That's what I thought. Kinda like being expected to feed fifty at your table and all you got is a lousy can o' beans and a box of soda crackers. It's food—but it ain't gonna fill anybody up for long."  
Ed was quiet for several minutes, head bowed, face flushed. "Did Roy—"  
"Lissen," she cut in briskly. "He didn't have to tell me jack shit. Son, I ran the biggest and best whorehouse in Central for nearly forty years. I see 'em come in every goddamned night. They pay for the booze and the girls—but once they get up to those rooms there ain't a whole lot of fuckin' going on. Nope. They buy the girls time because they need to talk. Because their hearts are busted up—sometimes their heads too. They feel like some jackrabbit in a leg iron in the woods. Do they lie their and die, chew off their legs and crawl away bleeding…or will somebody help 'em out and get it through the hunter's fuckin' brain that this stupid and wrong."  
She reached over and thumped Ed soundly on his automail knee. "You're a tough little bastard. You know what you need to do for you."  
Ed's eyes were desperate. "My kids—"  
"Yeah, I know. You two are gonna have to talk this out. Do what's right. But what I'm sayin' is better a broken home than a home were people get broken. Kids ain't dumb. They see it—they learn it. And you don't want your kids beatin' up on people—or letting themselves get beat up. Am I right, son?"  
"…..yeah…"  
"So-you sit tight. Get back on your feet some. Get word to that granny of hers that you're still alive, you love your kids and you'll talk in a few weeks. Meet the girl somewhere in neutral territory—kinda like ambassadors meetin' to stop a war. If you want out, you tell her. Don't waffle. If you want back in, you both have to get help. You tell her what you think the kids need. You listen to her side. And you bring along some people who listen to both of you—keep you from getting' your head busted or from either of you playin' any bullshit games—like you shuttin' her out or her getting all teary or pissy. You talk, goddamn it. You listen to each other. And you decide what's best for your kids. Okay?"  
"Yes, ma'am…" He nodded as earnestly as his aching head would allow. "Thank you, Ma'am."  
She beamed. "You're welcome. And thanks for what you've done for my Roy-Boy."  
Ed looked puzzled. "Huh? What did I do for Mustang?"  
"He's smiling now. First time I've seen him smile like that since Maes died. Doing him good looking after you. Means a lot. And you got him to shave that goddamned mustache, so you must be a damned good kisser."  
Ed's jaw hung open. His face turned an astonishing shade of scarlet. He remembered the comforting strength of warm hands kneading his aching shoulders, the scent of sandalwood and cinders—and those same hands never letting go as he tried not to panic when they strapped him to the bed, put his head in a vise, dosed him with morphine and drilled a hole in his skull two days ago.  
I'll be here if you need me….  
And he'd be here again tonight…hopefully.  
His mouth went suddenly dry. "C-can I…"  
"Yeah?"  
"Can I ask…y'know…if…let's suppose two guys….I—I mean," he stammered awkwardly, "well…is it gross when two guys….doesn't it hurt? "  
Madame Christmas hooted with laughter. She reached over and affectionately patted his thigh. "Boy, do you have some pleasant surprises in store, Ed-Boy…" She was still chuckling as she waved goodbye.

Pleasant surprises?  
I'll be here if you need me….  
He looked down at his groin in surprise. "Well…and she said you were as good as dead…."  
….TO BE CONTINUED…


	6. (MRS) CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time Alphonse catches his brother lying to him…but Madame Chistmas brings out the truth…and as a reward, some…educational literature…that has Ed VERY intrigued. Ed makes plans to end his marriage but hopes to keep the peace for the sake of his children, sending Colonel Hawkeye to Resembool for a talk with his soon to be ex-wife.

HALF LIVES Chapter 6: "Christmas" Presents  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010

 

The voice on the other end of the phone was maybe a little too calm. "Brother? I heard you had an accident and hurt your head. I want to come see you. Is…is that all right?"  
It was late in the evening. An exhausted Fuhrer Mustang had come in, taken care of Ed's needs, showered and stretched out on the fold out chair, falling asleep almost immediately…although one hand rested on Ed's mattress as it had from the day he was admitted.. Ed eyed the gently snoring form with suspicion. "How'd you find out?"  
"I got summoned to court," Al answered truthfully. "Ling's got informants in Central—the Fuhrer has them here, too. Anyway, Ling heard you'd had an accident somewhere in your travels and soon as I heard I wanted to see if you were all right. I called the Fuhrer's office but they said he wasn't in."  
"Aw…just a bump on the head," Ed chuckled lamely. "You know me—no biggie. Mustang got all pissy and sent me to bed in the hospital for a few days…mostly so he could drive me insane, sadistic bastard. "  
There was a pause. "How did it happen?"  
"I was running to catch the last train to Central. Slipped on some ice and smacked my head on one of those concrete benches. Got a few stitches, that's all. "  
'Granny stitched you up?"  
"Nahhh-put some ice on it on the train. Got to Mustang's office and he had a shit-fit. Said it was an insurance risk so he threw me in the hospital. They stitched it up—lost a bit of hair but I look okay, my bangs cover it mostly. I'm all over his ass to get me out of here. He's got me working with a chess master for that trip to Aerugo. Probably hang out here until we head down there."  
Another pause. "How's Winry?"  
Ed didn't skip a beat. "She's fine, the kids are fine—and Granny never changes. So, how's His Celestial Mooch Artist doing? How much money does he owe you?"

 

Al hung up after Ed had reassured him no less than a dozen times that there was no need to come to Central—or Resembool. And the subtle hints that Winry should be called were met with a quick, "oh-don't-bug-her-she's-up-to-her-ass-in-refits".  
"Well? I was right, wasn't I?" Ling grinned hugely. "Lying through his teeth—and to his own brother, too. Shame, shame, shame!"  
Al shook his head. "All right," he sighed heavily. "I really don't want to do this." Stomach churning, he dialed International Long Distance again.  
"They aren't in right now. You wanna leave a message?"  
"Yes….it's Alphonse. Alphonse Elric—"  
The voice on the other end laughed warmly! "AL! Good to hear from you—they're gonna be so sorry they missed your call…"  
"S'okay. Tell them….I'll call back later. Let her know it's about Ed."  
"Boy, I better move anything breakable, then. She's gonna tear this place apart if he's in trouble again…"  
"Yeah. Just…tell her I'll call back. 'Bye."  
"Hardest part of the journey is the first step," Ling intoned philosophically. "And finding a really good pizza joint. Speaking of which…you lost the bet"  
"What bet?"  
"You said, 'I bet he'll tell me the truth.' I said, 'I bet he won't'. Ed lied to you, Alphonse, and while I regret that deeply—you now owe me dinner. I want double anchovies and hot peppers…you can pay when they deliver in about…" he consulted the clock above him, "twenty minutes or so…"

 

"Looks like you'll live." Madame Christmas hauled up a chair and sank down into it with a weary groan. "Think life was easier when I just ran a whore house. Runnin' a supper club's a pain in the rear—those kitchen inspectors are the biggest bunch of asswipes…" She pulled out her cigarette holder and flicked it in Ed's direction. "So…you think about what we talked about couple of days ago?"  
He could barely meet her eyes. "Yes Ma'am".  
The ornate holder waggled sharply. "Don't Ma'am me, boy—I'm a whore. An ex whore who now serves the best steaks in town, but a whore nonetheless. Call me Aunt Chris. Never can have too much family."  
Ed nodded. "Okay," he answered softly. And yeah….I've decided what I'm gonna do."  
She folded her plump arms. "Let's hear it, son."  
He drew in a deep breath. It didn't relieve the ache in his chest. "I get out in a week—then three weeks supervised light duty. Then Knox lets me go. I'm…I'm going to write to Winry. Tell her that in four weeks I'm coming to Resembool and we are gonna sit down and make decisions about the kids. In the mean time," he looked her squarely in the eyes, " Colonel Hawkeye has agreed to go there and get my stuff. She and Havoc and Breda will get it packed up and shipped to Central. I figure if they go there's gonna be less chance of wrenches getting thrown. Hawkeye can talk sense into damn near anybody—and Winry trusts her. Hawkeye will also make sure my kids are all right. Roy says I can store my stuff in the palace until I decide about a place of my own. I want to make sure Maes and Nina know they have a home with me—I'm not just some worthless son of a bitch who doesn't even have a roof over his head. Been there, done that."  
"You're not going back. You sure about this, boy?"  
He smiled a little. "I'm sure. But I don't want to have some big war between us. I want the kids to know that whatever house they're in—mine or hers—that they are wanted and loved and their parents want to do what's best for them. Always."  
A chubby hand, covered with rings and gems, squeezed his own. "Proud of you, Ed-Boy. Damned proud. And you're a better daddy than you know. Those kids'll be fine. Now," she dug into her massive pocketbook, "I got you a little reward for remembering where your balls are." The parcel was flat—felt like a largish flat book with a smaller book laid on top of it. "A little…educational literature. You may find it pretty useful. And I'm sure you don't go in for light novels…but this one's a little different…"

 

After Madame Christmas left, Ed tore the parcel open as she had instructed…and it was a good thing the safety rail was up on his bed or he would have fallen straight to the floor.  
For You, For Him, And For Us: A handbook for men—and the men who love them.  
If there had been a blood pressure cuff on his arm it would have blown off his arm. Damn.  
Damn.  
He flipped through a few gorgeously illustrated pictures. He'd slam the cover shut, shove it hastily under his pillow…then nervously pull it out again and flip the pages again.  
Educational to say the very least.  
Positions. Lovingly illustrated. Answers to questions he didn't dare ask even himself. How does…when do you….if I do this, he will feel that….  
Frank talk about taste. Texture. Scent….skin…  
Taking care of one's own body. Taking care of your lover's body.  
Preparation. Lubrication. Sensation. With lots of illustration and detailed explanation.  
Which…understandably, led to….ejaculation. And a nervous request for more towels and a fresh box of tissues for his room.  
Inside the cover, a scribbled dedication: "To Roy from Aunt Chris. Be yourself—and be kind to your lovers.. No regrets-Chris Mustang, 18—"  
The novel was entitled The Stonewall Garden. A military man and a young National Athlete growing to love and trust one another over the years and take the risks to find a life together. It was blunt. It was finny. It was brutally honest. It was real.  
And it was just what he needed to hear. That love is love. And when love comes in one's own gender…it is no better or worse…but should be accepted as the precious gift it is—a gift that can save ones' life.  
He found his eyes stinging as he read The Stonewall Garden. It spoke of love in terms he understood but had not felt before. Maybe if he'd known what love was supposed to feel like, he'd have realized before the wedding that his love for her was family love—not the love to build a life on, to form a family on. It was no less valid—but it was not what his heart needed.  
He cared. But now he understood the gravity of his mistake, and what needed to be done to make peace so that their children never suffered.  
And yes…maybe in time Winry could heal and find happiness with someone new. While Ed….  
While Ed fell asleep in the late afternoon without morphine or other drugs. A sweet, natural sleep-the kind that heals the most. Under the pillow, his hand rested on For Us.  
He and Roy would have a great deal to say to one another before they turned in for the night…and he wanted to be very well rested….

 

"Resembool! All out for Resembool!"  
"Havoc….HAVOC!"  
Jean snorted. "I'm up, I'm up…jeeze…."  
"Breda? You ready?"  
Heymans nodded. "Got the list here. But y'know," he pointed out, "Al would have been the better guy to go through his brother's stuff."  
Hawkeye shook her head. "He's not convinced Al won't cave in. It's better this way."  
After the men headed for the baggage depot, she excused herself. In the ladies; lavatory she opened her brief case.  
A copy of the Amestrian laws regarding domestic violence. The arrest warrant Edward had refused to sign. A pair of handcuffs.  
Doctor Knox had given Ed a good scare and it had brought him to his senses. "Now," she sighed quietly, "it's my turn…"  
…..TO BE CONTINUED


	7. "GODZ" AND CONSEQUENCES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winry has received the most exciting news of her life—the greatest automail studio in Amestris has offered her a job in Rush Valley—but Godz Studio isn’t the only one trying to reach her. So is Colonel Riza Hawkeye—bound for Resembool with a legal document that could change Winry’s life forever. Meanwhile…Ed comes to …grips…with his feelings for Roy.

HALF LIVES Chapter 7: Godz and Consequences  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

 

Roy might not make it to the hospital that night. He had called and apologized. Proof that Ed wasn't the only one cracked in the head. Roy Mustang….apologized? There had been something in the paper about an issue with the Drachman ambassador, whipping off his shoe and pounding on the table during peace talks and Brigadier General Armstrong laying her hand on her sword hilt. The Fuhrer stepped in personally to calm both parties down. It was all over the papers how Mustang had physically placed himself between them, risking his safety for the sake of making both furious parties shut up and listen to reason.  
He was sweating and shaking when he called. "Damn," he muttered softly, "we are so close to signing this treaty…I swear I want to just lock The Ice Queen and the Tsar in the broom closet until they either kill each other, fuck each other or get drunk with each other….and the third is my plan tonight. I'm going to meet with them alone with just our bodyguards and open a bottle of Vodka and see if we can somehow work this bullshit out." He sighed heavily and Ed could swear he could hear Roy ruffling his hair as he always did when irritated.  
"I'll be all right," he reassured Mustang. "Maria Ross is coming over for a chess lesson and she says she's going to smuggle me in some bratwurst so I can have a decent damned meal for once. That' s gonna tire me out, so I'll turn in early."  
"She and Denny on point tonight?" Roy asked urgently.  
"Quit worrying," Ed growled, but with no real anger behind it. There was a pause. "The courier sent me a telegram. My letter's arrived in Resembool and will be delivered to Granny in the morning. She'll see Winry gets it, I know. And Hawkeye called last night—she and Havoc and Breda will be in Resembool in time for breakfast. They'll let me know when they're packed up. Shouldn't take long."  
Roy took a deep breath. "She'll call you."  
"Probably will." Ed agreed. "And I will listen. And I will tell her not to forget that crate of Dad's old notes in the cellar. I'm keeping those."  
There was quiet breathing shared over the line. "All right," Roy said at last. "If I don't get there tonight—"  
"—wake me when you get here if I'm still asleep—but don't kill yourself. Take care of this Drachma shit, okay?" Ed asked softly. "We can do without another goddamned war. I'm not going anywhere. Promise?  
"Promise." Roy's voice became low, nearly a purr that Ed could feel right to the pit of his stomach. "See you then."

 

One hand crept under the pillow and touched Aunty Chris' book again. The other hand slid down a taut belly to greet what had risen under his gown. "Life only flows in one direction…" Ed whispered to the empty chair beside his bed, imagining who would be lying there soon. He nuzzled the pillow. There were still faint traces of Roy's shampoo and scent. He dug the book out, flipped to page 56 and imagined it was Roy's hand and not his own, stroking slowly, teasing him, biting him gently on the neck and shoulder, a rock-hard chest rubbing against his own….  
She couldn't move. She didn't dare breathe. The letter in her hand was already damp with sweat and tears. She hadn't seen this coming. She had not seen this coming.  
She had snatched the letter out of Granny's hand, thundered up the stairs to her workshop, slammed and locked the door and checked the address again and again before ripping into the envelope with shaking hands because, for better or worse, this letter would change her life forever….

 

Winry—  
It seems like forever since we've talked. Things have changed here and after a great deal of consideration I think its time to approach you with this.  
I have been licensed as a branch of the legendary Godz Automail Studio. I think you understand the significance of this. I need a partner. I can't do this alone. I am offering you a full partnership in the new studio. In a few years you may be able to buy into the franchise, adding the cachet of Godz to the Rockbell name.  
I've found a lovely house that would suit the needs of your family. I need to know as soon as possible what your answer is. Truthfully, sweetie, I can't do this without you. Think of all you can accomplish here-and pack your bags for Rush Valley—and give my best to Edward and the children. Looking forward to see him when he's NOT in serious danger for once!  
Love and kisses,  
Garfiel

 

When she finally found her breath, she screamed. She pounded back down the stairs, swept up her grandmother in a fierce embrace and began jumping up and down, squealing and sobbing with joy.  
Pinako thumbed some more tobacco into her pipe. "You gonna do it?" she asked softly.  
Winry's eyes went wide. "Do it? DO IT? Granny—didn't you hear me? This is GODZ STUDIO! Only the greatest automail engineers in the world! And they want me! Where are my shoes—can you watch the kids—I've got to send a telegraph directly to Godz to let them know when I can get down to Rush Valley to sign the contracts-do me a favor and call Mr. Garfiel, will you? His number's on the board. Tell him I'm on my way to get the tickets and to the telegraph office!"  
She was out the door, snatching Ed's keys off the rack so she could take the car he'd left for her use.  
There were three other letters, unread, that she'd jammed in her pocket. A flyer for a metallurgist's conference. An order for a replacement toe joint for a six year old—she'd work on that tonight…and one from Ed.  
Ed's letters were…well, to be honest, they were boring. How are you? How are the kids? Heading here. Traveling there. Will see you in a few weeks..months…whatever.  
Signed simply Ed.  
She'll respond after she'd contacted Godz and bought her tickets to Rush Valley. Hmmm—she ought to call the Curtises too. Izumi regarded herself as Maes and Nina's grandmother, after all. Yes, maybe if Ed could tear himself away from it all they could meet in Dublith to celebrate her brand new life…their brand new life…

 

Pinako sat down heavily and wiped her brow on the hem of her apron. There was a bit of moisture on her cheek. A drop of it in the corner of her eye. Not that she was crying. Too much to do. Orders to fill. Refits to measure. Kids to keep out of buckets of spare parts and cans of metal cement. She needed a minute, though. Her health was good as ever, but the pain in her heart seemed to increase with every hour, every time the phone rang.

Knox had called after Ed's surgery. "Accident or not—she's damned lucky he's not pressing charges," the doctor told her tersely. "Clot's out. He's doing okay, and Mustang never lets him out of somebody's sight for a moment.  
"Ed told me he didn't want anybody to tell his wife but I wore him down until he agreed to let you know."  
Granny's eyes had darted to the pictures of two little blonde boys proudly showing off the measly minnow at the end of their fishing line. Her eyes became moist. "I love that boy. Love him like he was mine. But kids are gonna do what kids are gonna do. She made up her mind long ago."  
"Sounds like she made up his mind for him."  
"Some, maybe," she acknowledged. 'He thought it would make her happy. And now what they did have all their lives…it's …" She couldn't go on.  
"Time will tell," Knox finished. "For now, he's gonna stay put at the Palace. Mustang will keep him in line, even if it takes handcuffs and leg irons. Ed will be back on his feet within the month. And then those two have some serious talking to do-and I may be stickin' my nose in someone else's business—but there ought to be some neutral parties there—just to make sure nobody gets pissed off and all my repair work doesn't get undone."  
She poured herself a shot of whiskey and knocked it back. Then she dialed the hospital room extension Knox had given her.

It was not a long conversation. He sounded exhausted. He sounded sad, although he was glad to hear from her and cheered up considerably at the sound of his kids laughing and stampeding through the house in the background. No, she told him. Winry hadn't read the letter yet. She'd heard from Godz Studio and was offered the chance of a lifetime for a new start in Rush Valley.  
"Good." There was relief in that word. Finality. Pinako's heart sank.  
"You're not coming back?"  
Ed hesitated. "We need to sign the papers at the Magistrate's office. Take my name off the family registry. And we need to decide what to do for the kids. I'm a shitty father," his voice had a note of poignant regret. "They deserve better. But if she's going to be running a studio with Godz…Maes and Nina….what's to become of them? Will they stay with you, Granny?"  
It broke her heart, those next words. "No. Ed….I'm old. I raised my sons. I raised Winry—and you and Alphonse. I'm sorry….but as much as I love these kids….I can't do it. I'm sorry…."  
"Don't be," he told her quickly. "Winry and I will…find some way…some answer."  
"But…not together."  
"Granny," Ed's voice was very, very soft. "Were we ever really together? From the day she cried at the train station when I left—when I thought, 'hey, it could work…half a life for half a life….' We fucked it up good, didn't we? Now we can't go back to being family or friends anymore." She heard the sound of a fist hitting what sounded like a table top. "Goddamn it," Ed shouted, "why the fuck didn't we just…let things be the way they always were? I lost my best friend. I lost my sister. I look in her eyes and all I see is another person I've let down.. And I'll let the kids down too…and…and…"  
"Stop right there." Her voice was sharp as a slap across the cheek. Enough was enough. "I've heard her side—and I've heard yours. And I agree with you—make a clean break. Take care of the kids, make a clean break…don't let the anger creep into this. Give each other time and space to grow. And maybe…in time…that friendship will heal."

 

"Lieute—Colonel Hawkeye!" Winry rushed up the sidewalk, flushed and bright eyed and jubilant. She decided not to telegram—she called Godz herself and was thrilled to learn they would be sending her the contracts in three days. She'd called Garfiel and the two had run up quite a phone bill, eagerly catching up and making plans—she would move into his atelier until she found a proper house of her own, and how he couldn't wait to meet her children. She'd sent a telegram to Central to Mustang's office—Sheska could probably find where Ed was on the road, and another to the Amestrian Embassy in Xing to let Al know the good news. Running into Riza Hawkeye was like the cherry on the top of it all—to share it with an old friend.  
Only her friend wasn't smiling. Winry hugged Riza impulsively, so eager to share the wonderful news from Rush Valley. The Colonel stiffened. "Winry Rockbell Elric? I'm sorry, but you'll have to come with us."  
Us?  
Heymans Breda stepped quickly to her side. "Ma'am." He touched his forehead respectfully. Then he held up a pair of handcuffs.  
Winry stared at Riza. She stared at Breda. She shook her head slightly. "What?" Her old friends didn't smile. Hawkeye reached into her breast pocket and withdrew a folded document with the words WARRANT OF ARREST.  
Beneath that, she read her full married name.. And the authorization stamp of His Excellency Fuhrer Roy Mustang and the signature of Dr. Owen Knox, MD.  
"The restraints won't be necessary if you cooperate and come quietly."  
Winry didn't move. She didn't blink. None of this was sinking in.  
"In accordance to Amestrian State Criminal Code, section 2-C, the State of Amestris has issued a Warrant of Arrest for Winry Rockbell Elric on the grounds of aggravated assault with intent to cause bodily injury to Edward Elric, resulting in head trauma and brain injury—"  
The pavement began to wobble beneath her feet.  
"Defendant Winry Rockbell Elric is accused of violating a section of our law that reads as follows:   
A person is guilty of aggravated assault if he/[she] attempts to cause or purposely or knowingly causes bodily injury to another with a deadly weapon, defined as any and all instruments, firearms or edged blades which can cause death or serious injury when wielded with sufficient force or firepower…"  
"He wrote me a letter." Her hand went to her pocket. "I haven't read it."  
Hawkeye continued. "Under this statute, the defendant can be found guilty if he/she EITHER caused bodily injury to another with a deadly weapon OR attempted to cause bodily injury to another with a deadly weapon.   
To find the defendant guilty of causing bodily injury to another with a deadly weapon, the State must prove beyond a reasonable doubt the following elements:   
1\. that the defendant caused bodily injury to another; and   
2\. that the defendant caused the bodily injury by use of a deadly weapon; 3. that the defendant acted purposely or knowingly.   
She tore open the letter as if she couldn't hear them. Her eyes darted frantically over words like regret and signature and joint custody. And moving to Central. And you can keep the car. Havoc will take care of the rest of it.  
And amicable divorce.  
And somewhere, droning in the background came the calm voice of Colonel Riza Hawkeye.  
"…We, the State, will prove beyond a reasonable doubt is that defendant caused bodily injury to Mr. Elric, resulting in laceration, concussion, fracture of the skull and a subdural hematoma to the right side of the brain requiring surgical intervention…"  
Ed…divorce…warrant…arrest…assault…"It…it was just a wrench. Just a wrench. It's…not like…I've done it a dozen times." There was a sick buzzing in her head.  
Breda snapped the cuffs on her wrist. He cleared his throat.  
"In accordance with Section 6, paragraph 27 of the Child Protection Act, any person arrested for acts of criminal violence with dependant children will have them removed by family service agents and remanded to protective foster care until such time as the State determines the fitness of the accused to care for them in a safe and trustworthy manner." He stepped back and Hawkeye laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Your children were removed from your home half an hour ago. They are under protective custody. I give you my word, you can see them before we go."  
"Go….? Go…where?" Winry whispered in stunned confusion.  
Hawkeye gestured to the car waiting at the curb. "The State Women's Correctional Institution. You'll remain there until your hearing and until your trial."  
Winry sagged against the Colonel as she was guided into the back seat of the police sedan, where she promptly threw up all over the back seat and began sobbing for her children.

 

Twenty minutes later, the police car made a u-turn back to Resembool. It stopped in front of the Funny Bear Ice Cream Parlor.  
In the back seat, the cuffs were unsnapped. A clean handkerchief wiped her face clean. "They are waiting to see you," Hawkeye told her quietly. "All they know is that you're going on a trip and they'll stay with their grandmother. Let's go."  
Pinako and Jean Havoc were having the time of their lives. Nina had smeared half a scoop of strawberry ice cream on the Major's head and was giggling madly. Maes had a milkshake and was blowing bubbles with his straw, splashing chocolate all over the table. When he saw his mother, he crowed with delight and flung out his arms. "MAMA!"  
Winry crushed him to her heart and began to sob so hard that Breda, Havoc, Pinako and Hawkeye exchanged looks, and the warrant was drawn out of Hawkeye's pocket.  
"Winry. Winry." Reddened eyes glanced over Maes' tousled thatch of unruly blonde hair.  
The warrant was unfolded.  
The blank that read plaintiff, Edward Elric was unsigned.  
It was passed to Pinako. "I've got a message from Ed," she told her granddaughter.  
She ripped the document in half and laid the pieces in Winry's hands. "He had every right in the world to press charges, send you to jail and take your kids. But he realized that you're a better person than that. You hurt him—you could have killed him, but he stills sees the best in you. That's why he's giving you a chance to start a new life in Rush Valley."  
Winry thought about the boy she knew—the boy who wouldn't let her kill Scar. The boy who wouldn't let Mustang kill Envy for fear of what it might do to Roy's soul. The man who lay in agony in a hospital from a wound caused in a fit of exasperation. A man who could forgive.  
A man who…maybe…one day….could be her friend again.  
"T-thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for loving me enough to…"  
"You're welcome," said Colonel Hawkeye, ignoring the sharp sting of tears that threatened her composure. "Now," she said decisively, "whose brilliant idea was it to let that child blow bubbles in his milkshake?"  
Major Havoc winked at Maes. "Remember what I told you, kiddo?"  
"YAH!" Maes shouted. "UNKA JEAN MADE ME DO IT!"  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…..


	8. SNAP AND EXPLODE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In four weeks, Ed and Winry will meet in Resembool to sign the papers to dissolve their contract of marriage and to decide on the custody of their children—but not without a serious warning from Ed concerning Alphonse—and sharp words for Ed from Izumi Curtis. Stressed out, frustrated at nearly everybody and stir-crazy from weeks in the hospital, Ed finally breaks down…and Roy risks everything to bring Ed out of the darkness that has haunted him since Al returned to his body.

HALF LIVES Chapter 8: Snap and Explode  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

It was time to for Edward Elric to stop running.

No train schedule would rescue him and when Dr. Knox put the phone in his hand and left him alone in the room with his estranged wife on the other end of the line he would have feigned sleep if he could. This time he took the receiver and faced up to what he had been avoiding since the night he'd fled into the cold, blood oozing from his freshly stitched scalp.

 

"It's me. We have to talk."   
"Okay. I got your letter. What do you want to do, Edward?"  
There might have been awkward silence if he had had not be so sure—had he not been so absolutely sure that his decision was the right one.  
It was against his nature to think of himself, to consider his own needs. He was many thing—stubborn, obsessive, prone to guilt and slow to trust…and fiercely loyal to his loved ones. Once he loved someone—any one, man, woman or child—he was loathed to see the worst in them.  
He did not see the worst in her. What he saw was a side of her that he could not live with any longer. Perhaps, on some very deep level, she was frustrated for having obsessed over him to the exclusion of all else—and having gotten what she thought she had wanted had come to realize it was just not enough to feed her own spirit. Better now than later. Better me than the kids or anyone else. If they set one another free and insured that their children suffered no loss of love and care…she could become the master craftswoman she was so obviously meant to be. And Ed…  
…without alchemy, what was his destiny?

Alchemy could be a crutch. He regarded himself as proof of that. Teacher had warned him that it was more important to learn to fix something with ones own hands than to rely on alchemy to mend the evils of the world. Wasn't he proof of that? He couldn't drive a nail or cook a decent meal or plant a row of radishes or even mend a hole in his jacket pocket—couldn't even thread a needle or make a drinkable cup of coffee. If he got dirty on the road he used alchemy to clean his clothing. Confronted with a diaper brimming with something warm and runny and foul beyond belief he had stared helplessly at Pinako. Neither he nor Winry had a clue what the hell to do, and little Maes had squalled miserably and peed all over himself and Granny had had to show them—had to teach them what life should have already taught them.  
He had lived for alchemy. She had lived for engineering. She had wanted a child—thought it would bind him closer. Instead they were baffled and scared and helpless. They loved Maes…but if Pinako hadn't been there….and then when it looked like they were drifting apart she had again thrown caution to the winds, timed her pursuit of him for the best chance of conception…and along came another innocent they scarcely knew how to care for.

Maes and Nina deserved better. So did Winry.  
And so did Edward Elric.

She cried, a little. But she listened. And in the end she agreed to the divorce. The forms would be signed at the magistrate's office in four weeks in Resembool. Grounds for dissolution would be listed as 'irreconcilable differences". She would take back her maiden name—the children would retain their father's. Custody would be shared—but Ed had reservations about them remaining with their mother without the supervision of Pinako. "We'd better figure this out, Winry," he warned her. There was something of an implied threat there, she countered. "Would you care to see the x-rays," he asked softly.  
"You think I'd ….EDWARD!" She was getting angry now. "How dare you—I would never—"  
"You said you loved me. You lost your temper and started taking it out on me. I kept my mouth shut—and you fuckin' nearly killed me by accident."  
Handcuffs. A warrant. We, the State, will prove beyond a reasonable doubt is that defendant caused bodily injury to Mr. Elric, resulting in laceration, concussion, fracture of the skull and a subdural hematoma to the right side of the brain requiring surgical intervention. "I would never hurt Maes or Nina," she stoutly insisted.  
"How many times did you hit Alphonse with the wrench in the hospital in Central after the attack on Lab 5?"  
It took her several moments to find her voice. "Ed—that's…that was a suit of armor!"  
"That…was…my…BROTHER." His voice became cold. "You hit him and hit him and cried and sobbed and screamed at him and kept hitting him over and over and over-"  
"Ed, he couldn't feel it—"  
"YOU HIT MY BROTHER. If he'd been in flesh you would have killed him a dozen times over. You didn't think of that. You were pissed at us, pissed at him and you just kept flailing away—because he didn't tell you to stop. Well," his voice was low, shaking slightly. "I am telling you to stop. For good. His good. My good. Maes' good. Nina's good. And for your good. And to make damned sure you don't do it again," he took a deep breath, "let me tell you about the other warrant."  
She felt sick. "Wha-what?"  
"I told Hawkeye to give you the warrant I refused to sign—the one for assault charges for cracking my skull. I told Pinako to tear it up after you'd read it and my letter. But-," his voice was barely a whisper, "if…I…ever…hear of you laying a hand on any…other…person…even so much as slapping a mosquito…you'll find out about the warrant I did sign-the one stating that I have personally seen you hit my brother repeatedly and with enough force to harm or kill him. That the only thing that protected him from injury was his armor—they don't need to know about the blood seal. I have copies of my medical records. I have signed statements from others who have seen you hit him in the past. I have my surgical notes and x-rays. And there is enough evidence against you there to take Maes and Nina away for good. I would rather see them fostered with a loving family a million miles away from me than to have Maes piss you off some day when he's a hard-headed teenager and you hit him the way you hit me and Al."  
She began to sob, fingers clutching the receiver, twisting the cord over and over around her fingers. "Ed….oh god…Ed…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…."  
"Then prove it." His voice brooked no nonsense. "Go to Rush Valley. Be the best you can be—the best anywhere. You and I need to grow up. Maes and Nina need more that either one of us can give them. If that means we have to get someone to help you—we do it. If it means we let someone else raise them—we do it. You get your shit together. I'll get mine together. So that when those two grow up—they can see that their parents aren't total assholes—and that we loved them enough to make sure they had the best chance to grow up into good people. If you agree to that—then that second warrant never sees the light of day."

 

Four weeks.  
Pinako would be there. Alphonse would be there. Hawkeye would be there—she was as fair and objective as they came. Her cool head was one thing that both he and Winry had agreed upon.  
And Sig and Izumi Curtis would be there too.

 

"I ought to be furious with you for not telling me—I had to hear it from Alphonse," Teacher growled into the phone. "But yes—absolutely. Sig and I need to be there for you."  
"I—I figured you'd be objective about my side of fucking things up. I know Pinako's not gonna go easy on Winry either. We need people who love us enough not to let us get away with bullshitting ourselves….and Al's gonna cave in and get emotional, " he added with a hint of bitterness. "You know how he gets about Winry."  
In Dublith, Izumi and Sig exchanged knowing glances. "He still doesn't get it," Izumi whispered, covering the mouthpiece.  
"He misses things sometimes, but he's a good kid," Sig smiled into his beard.  
"Ed?"  
"Teacher?"  
"I sincerely hope you aren't holding that girl completely responsible for this mess you've made. You're just as guilty as she is. She's not the only one who was impulsive and immature and not ready for this. You weren't thinking either. And while you never raised your hand to her—you ran off and avoided her and believe me—that's as damaging as a blow to the head in it's own way. Look what happened to you and Hohenheim. You know how bitter you felt towards him for disappearing? Think how she must have felt."  
Ed bristled. "Hey—the day we agreed to this she said—"  
"I don't care what she said. What she said and what she really wanted were two different things, obviously. That's human nature. You weren't perceptive to that, Ed. You were insensitive. It was easier to jump on a train than face up to the cracks and strains of your relationship. You made the commitment. You got in, found the water was too hot and you skipped town. You left her to simmer and stew…and she lost her cool and let you have it. Believe me—if you had been my husband, I'd have wanted to brain you too sometimes, "she added with a chuckle, then became serious again. "You two are ending this, so do it right. See to the kids and own up to your mistakes. You're going to have to deal with each other for the rest of your lives because you have children between you. So clear the air and make damn sure you don't do further damage. You hear me, Edward?"  
"Yes, Ma'am!"  
"We'll be there. See you then."

 

He had faced Winry, the safety of distance notwithstanding. Izumi had given him some well-deserved hell. He was shaking from the strain, snappish and ready to lash out at anything—or anyone—when Roy arrived at the hospital after an exhausting day that made front page news.  
The treaty between Amestris and Drachma would be signed in an official ceremony in 48 hrs. An uneasy truce—but a step closer to peace. Olivier Armstrong had gotten drunk with Tsar Dimitri Nikitovich and His Excellency Fuhrer President Roy Mustang….  
….on water.  
"The first drinks were real," Roy admitted smugly. "The other six bottles of Vodka were filtered water. They never knew the difference. By the time the meeting broke up Dimitri was singing "The Snow Queen of Volgagrad" and Olivier was doing a Cossack dance with her sword and I was pretending to be completely ripped and calling out the items of the truce and they kept yelling, "hell yes!" and "Da!" and all three secretaries were frantically getting it all down and making them sign it. By the time they sobered up," he finished proudly, "they were too embarrassed to take it all back. Mission accomplished."  
And Edward was a million miles away. He hadn't heard one word of Roy's triumphant trickery. Roy would have been annoyed but his chafed ego was laid aside as soon as he noticed the clenched knuckles twisting the sheets and the taut fury in those golden eyes.  
He pulled his chair closer to the bed, reached out and laid his hand over Edward's. "Something's wrong. Tell me."  
Like a snap of his fingers, Roy's words and touch set off an explosion.

 

In Ishbal he'd snapped his fingers—and the walls burst from within as the volatile gasses in the very air around the city ignited. The ground would rock. The window panes would melt into puddles. Bricks and bodies would char and the stench of broiled human meat would linger in his nostrils for years until the very thought of a grilled steak on the Presidential banquet table nearly made him vomit. He fully comprehended the force and fury unleashed when a volatile fuel source was touched by flame. A chemical reaction—furious, not like the half-life of nuclear decay.

Sometimes things die by degrees—unstable atoms breaking down bit by bit, half-life by half-life.  
And sometimes they blow apart with incredible force, just as Edward Elric blew apart, right before Roy's eyes. It had been coming for years.

He ranted. He cried. He screamed, cursing everybody from God to his father to Alphonse—yes, even his own beloved brother. "He left me! The sonofabitch just…left…me. We were supposed to travel the world together. To study together—all those dreams…and the bastard goes off to Xing to study that—that—dragon crap with that kid….and just leaves me there in Resembool. Goddamn him!" The tears were coming now. "And…and…I was all , 'sure, you go east, and I'll go west'….and I was smiling like it was a good idea. 'When you coming back, Al?"' 'Oh, I don't know. I'm going to keep going East-cross the oceans—there's a whole world to explore…' AND HE WENT WITHOUT ME. Goddamn him," Ed was pounding his fists furiously on the mattress. "I gave up my life—I gave up alchemy…I gave him my life…everything….and he…just…went…away." He was sobbing so hard he could barely catch his breath. "He…I was alone…all alone…and she started crying at the station…and I thought…at least someone gives a fuck…and I won't be alone…I can keep going…but….it wasn't…I thought I could make myself feel…my whole life, from the moment we transmuted Mom—all of it was to take care of my brother…and he…doesn't need me…and I fucked up everything and thought Winry and I could compromise….and we can't and it's done and I've got kids to worry about…and now…I….I….ohhhh, FUCK IT ALL!"  
He slammed back against the mattress, face down, and howled and sobbed until he lay still.  
And the whole time, Roy listened to this raving, this fury. Holding Ed's hand. Saying nothing, but feeling every single wave of pent up energy that had been threatening to explode for years. All it took was a simple snap.  
And Roy's gloved touch was all that was needed to set off the explosion.  
But if that touch could destroy….it could heal…

Gloves laid to one side. One hand laid in the middle of a toned back that barely lifted in breath. For a moment, Roy was really afraid that Ed's outburst had ruptured the hematoma—that he had done himself a fatal injury. But…no. He was covered with sweat and his heart beat raggedly. Too much….for too long. For a lifetime. His hands began to stroke…to soothe. To comfort. The muscles beneath his fingers were rigid as steel but the trembling ceased.  
The hands began to…caress.

He couldn't have stopped himself if he had wanted to. He tugged at the strings that closed the hospital gown in the back, drawing the much laundered cotton out of the way. Pressing his face into the curve of the scarred back, he was not quite certain when the caresses gave way to kisses, blindly nuzzling the sweaty skin, lips tracing up and down the curve of spine and shoulder, drawing aside the heavy mass of tangles to get at that vulnerable spot, just at the nape of the younger man's neck. That neck arched…almost imperceptively.

Shoulders. Neck. Shoulder blades—one still bearing the metal bolt where his arm brace had screwed right into his bones. A tongue laved the metal clean, then the dark ring of scar surrounding it. Droplets of fresh sweat stung his lips. He licked them clean, sucking lightly, now and then letting his own neediness get the better of him as he left small marks of passion as his mouth returned again and again to that inviting flesh where shoulder curved into neck and in the small of the back…just above the warm crevice …he traced it with the tip of his tongue and was rewarded with a shudder and a subtle shift of lean hips.  
Abruptly, Edward turned over. Face impassive, eyes as dull with pain and withdrawal as they had been that horrible day—was it ten years ago? Twelve?—when Roy had shouted into the face of a catatonic child in a wheelchair as his brother whispered over and over We're sorry…we're sorry…we're sorry… Roy had seen the light come on in those golden eyes that day.  
He would be damned if it would ever go out again.

A fine trail of soft, soft down shimmered low on a taut belly. His open mouth pursued it to the edge of the sheet, now darkened with spots of moisture and tented over something hard and urgent—something Roy would not touch without invitation. Instead, fingers and tongue explored each toned muscle, pausing to linger over that horrible scar where that perfect body had been pierced in Brigg's Mountain. His palms slid up, sweeping along Edward's sides, pausing to trace the ribcage and even more steel fragments that could not be removed without drilling them out of his skeleton. Rose-dark nipples stiffened. Scarred palms—each bearing the horrible stigmata of Bradley's swords—circled them firmly as Roy licked and kissed his way up the younger man's body.

He pressed his face into the palm of a hand of warm flesh that had replaced one of cold steel. He rubbed his cheeks against it, grazed the fingers with his open mouth and kissed the fine tracery of veins in a wrist still not quite so strong as the other side. He sucked on the fingers and felt a shudder of pleasure as one moist digit brushed his cheek in a vague caress.

A heavy sigh invited Roy to feast on those hardened nipples, sucking harder than he had dared before, nipping gently. The body beneath him stirred and underneath his mouth the rhythm of breath and heartbeat began to quicken dramatically. He lifted his face from the sweaty flesh he had tenderly bathed with his tongue—Roy Mustang, His Excellency. Fuhrer President of Amestris and one of the most powerful men in the free world. Humbled by simple emotion.  
Humbled by love.  
Giving. Asking nothing. Demanding no response, not even acknowledgement. He was doing this for Edward. Calling him back to himself—because he could not—would not—allow Edward to fall back into the darkness again.

Those golden eyes became focused. A voice ragged from shouting and screaming whispered a name—and it was not the name of the girl he had once called his wife.  
He lifted his hands before Roy's gaze. A golden ring was slipped from a hand that shook no longer. The ring was laid aside, dropped into the drawer of the nightstand.  
The drawer was closed…and that hand then curled around Roy's face as the other hand clasped Roy's shoulder, pulling him down…

The scent he knew from Roy's pillow—now richer, more enticing. The taste was nothing he knew before and didn't know he would make him greedy for that firm mouth, wanting to suck on that agile tongue that had sent sparks across his skin and coaxed him back to where he needed to be—where he now wanted to be. Back in his flesh. Back in the present. Here. With him.  
Ed had admitted to himself years ago that he was curious about men. There had been flashes of interest—but he was too inhibited, even when Ling got grabby with him. He lived for the mission, lived for his brother—only his brother didn't need him. His body was simply a soft machine that got him where he needed to go. That was why marrying Winry hadn't been such a big deal. Pleasurable? Yes. But nothing he couldn't compartmentalize and nothing he particularly missed when they were apart.  
Nothing like this. Nothing that made his body writhe and arch and yank at the high formal collar of Roy's dress uniform with the urgent need to feel skin against skin.  
The hips churning frantically under him was taken as the invitation Roy had been waiting for. Pulling away, he slid down, throwing the gown aside and yanking the damp covers away. Ed was naked, cock arched and flushed, belly already slick with moisture, thighs spread, toes clawing at the mattress. Roy did not hesitate. A tickle of warm breath against the softest flesh of Ed's inner thigh. A soft kiss that moved up to the crease of that thigh, lingered on the tip, sucking lightly—then a tongue tip slid under his foreskin, circling as the pad of Roy's thumb circled lower, pressing against the most sensitive and secret place of all.  
Ed's head fell back against the pillow. His mouth dropped open in a soundless scream. Under the bricks and mortar of a fortress of solitude he'd built around his oh-so-vulnerable heart, something cried out he's not even taking his clothes off…he's doing this for me…like he held my hand in surgery…like he slept here night after night while worrying about a whole damned country…he has the fucking world on his shoulders…and yet he's here…he's here…because I mean that much to him….

"Roy….please…"  
And the Fuhrer of Amestris climbed off the bed and smiled down at him. "Be sure, Ed," he whispered softly. "Be very…very sure."  
Ed nodded. "Hurry….now…"

 

The Fuhrer bowed and began to slowly unbutton his collar.  
He had been raised in a whorehouse. Seduction was something he'd witnessed from childhood. It had been a game for the girls there—a business transaction.  
This was no game. The greatcoat slid to the floor. Buttons slid out of button holes. The heavy silver cuff links bearing the state seal were unfastened and laid aside. And then Roy paused. He stood absolutely still. Then he reached down to Ed's belly, catching the salty drops that had pooled on his abdomen on his fingertips. Roy slicked his nipples with that moisture, stroking them to hardness before licking his fingers clean. Shoes and socks kicked aside. The fingers now toyed with his zipper. "Look at me," he purred. The front of his trousers was stained and dark. "You made me come for you, just from tasting your skin. Look at what you do to me, Edward." His hands slid under the waistband, caressing and stroking before pushing the trousers down and out of the way. Roy's eyes held Edward's, demanding acknowledgement. He stood with his thighs spread wide, dripping and coated with his own semen, flushed and fully hard again. "This is what you do to me…"  
Edward hooked a leg over each of the raised bed safety rails. He lifted his head and commanded. "Come here."

 

The tongue. God…the tongue…Each curse urged Roy on: "Oh fuck…ohhfuckkkkk…shit….yeah….god, don't stopppshiiiitttt…." He made Ed watch as he sat on his heels, slicked his fingers with his own seed and the tip of a finger pressed inside. Roy waited…Ed hissed for him to just do it…but no…Instead that bastard Mustang began to stroke that ring of muscle, inside with his finger-outside with his tongue. Ed began to call on the names of gods he didn't believe in. A second finger pressed in. They scissored. A tongue plunged between them. Ed ripped at the sheets with wildly flailing hands. A third finger slid deeper and touched him right where the book had told Ed about—the place that made the colors bleed from his sight and made him curse himself hoarse, demanding—ordering the Commander in Chief of the Nation of Amestris to fuck him now or he'd kill Roy with his bare hands.  
Roy grinned sadistically. "I never take orders from civilians…but…" his voice dropped two octaves, "if my lover asks me…"  
"Roy…" Beaten at last, Ed whispered gently. "I need you." His hand reached out to stroke his lover's cock. "Now…"  
The slick, velvety head eased inside. "Wait…give it a moment…let your body get used to me…I want this to be so good…so good for you…" Ed's opening spasmed a few more times then gradually relaxed. "Yessss….that's it…a little more now…" He pressed deeper, past the ridge of his foreskin. It was pure torment—that silken heat so tight around him…but he would wait…wait…yes, goddamn it if it killed him…he would wait…"More?" he murmured.  
"F-fuuuck…yessssss…"  
Deeper. Deeper still…until…"  
"OHHHHGODDDDDD!"  
Roy paused. "I made you say the 'G-Word'" He grinned mischeviously.  
"Fuck you, Mustang!"  
"As you wish." And he was balls deep, pounding hard with Edward clawing, biting, cursing and digging his heels so hard into Roy's back he later needed salve on the scratches and a cold pack on his bruised backside. But it was beyond bilss and at that moment Ed could have ripped the skin off his back with his old automail fingers and Roy wouldn't nave noticed. He was oblivious to everything except his lover's ravenous mouth and wild cries, the scalding hot softness that squeezed him so tight he was cursing too, panting out Edward's name with every breath. His lover's scent and taste and tightness and ferocity was intoxicating.  
"Roy…RoyOHFUUUUUUUUCKKKKKK!"  
And the Fuhrer of Amestris surrendered, firing a single, shuddering shot before collapsing in his lover's fierce embrace.

 

"Stay inside," Ed whispered, kissing Roy'softly now, mouth tender and gentle. "Feels so good."  
"You'll get me hard again," Roy chuckled. "I don't want to wear out out."  
Ed gave him a seductive grin. "Maybe I want to wear you out. I learned a lot from that little book Aunt Chris left me—the one she gave you years ago."  
Roy's eyes grew wide. "You mean…she..she…didn't.." he spluttered.  
Ed's hand slid down his back and parted his nether cheeks. He began to circle and stroke as he had been so recently—and deliciously—educated. "Damn right. And you always said I was a fast study….right?"  
..TO BE CONTINUED…..


	9. "THOSE WHO PUSH THE RIVER..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Havoc and Breda have packed Ed’s belongings, shipping them on to Central—to distract her, Colonel Riza Hawkeye takes Winry for a walk by the river—and tells her the truth about Roy, Maes Hughes—and how she and Roy resolved an impasse of the heart without destroying their friendship. Meanwhile, Roy reflects on his last meeting with Maes—just before Truth stole his sight in the Gateway…

Half Lives, Chapter 9: Those Who Push The River  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010

 

"Jeeze…he really doesn't have a lot of crap to pack, does he?"

"Guess not." Breda mopped his forehead and drove the last nail in. Three small crates of books, notes and laboratory whatnot. Four spare legs in individual storage cases, neatly packed into a fourth crate. Some clothing—not much. A little box of mementos of Alphonse and a few other friends they had acquired along the way. A briefcase containing his State Alchemist paperwork, decommission forms, and the Medal of Honor Fuhrer Grumman had awarded him for service to his country. Several leather map cases. And a small folder of photographs, including some taken of Maes and Nina a week ago. No need for a truck. It was barely enough to fill the car Ed was leaving behind.  
The wedding pictures were not in evidence. "What about this?" A family portrait taken on the front porch of the Rockbell house. "I've seen that picture of Ed's mom and dad with Ed and Al when they were little. Doesn't it look a little…I dunno…"  
"…weird that Winry's all decked out like Ed's mom, right down to the clothes and hair? Especially since she doesn't run around like that? I know…." Breda shook his head. That was one for the….well…he didn't want to say psychologists, but certainly anyone who knew anything about classical literature would know about Oedipal complexes and such—there was something unnerving about that picture. But still…  
"Wrap it up and label it and put it with the other stuff. That way he can decide when—or if—he wants to see it anytime soon."

 

Riza had taken Winry for a walk down to the river. She hadn't wanted Winry there to hear Havoc and Breda loading Ed's meager belongings into the car or to see them drive down to the station. Better this way, she reasoned.

Winry looked…numb. Her brief conversation with Ed had touched several nerves—but he had made some points she hadn't considered before. She wasn't quite ready to mull them over—the pain was too raw—but his remarks about how she could have killed Alphonse after the Lab 5 incident if he hadn't been in armor really disturbed her. I would rather see them fostered with a loving family a million miles away from me than to have Maes piss you off some day when he's a hard-headed teenager and you hit him the way you hit me and Al.   
She glanced at Colonel—no, Riza. Her friend. Someone who cared enough about her to shake up her world and tell her what she couldn't hear from Granny—and what Ed was unable to tell her until yesterday: get your shit together and grow up. Ed had said the same thing about himself. We don't want our kids to grow up and think we're assholes.  
But ever since that night in Central when she noticed…his shoulders were getting broad…he was getting attractive…she decided she loved him as something other than a brother…and he was not responding to her as she was responding to him—not in the way she had hoped. Everything was Al this, Al that, get the stone, beat the homunculi, get Al's body back—that was all he ever thought about. He cared about her. And he always showed up when he needed a favor or a repair. But it was pretty obvious in the two years before Al left for good that no matter how many hints and whatnot—Ed was not going to chase after her. But once Al had left…he was lonely and vulnerable…and when she saw her chance at the train station…she hadn't hesitated.

"….and…that's pretty much how it happened. He laughed at me…then he ruffled my hair…and finally said, okay…call it equivalent exchange—half my life for half of yours. And I hugged him….and he didn't even kiss me, Riza!" She had plucked a winter crocus and begun the he loves me, he loves me not without realizing it. She ripped the flower to pieces and threw it into the swirling waters below.  
Her companion sighed quietly and gazed out across the river, saying nothing. Winry threw up her hands in disgust. "Why am I even telling you all this? You don't know what it's like, getting the person you want and then losing him!"  
Cognac eyes met hers. "Winry…this goes no further. I need your word on this."  
"About what?"  
Riza wrapped her arms around herself as if she were suddenly very cold under her heavy wool coat. "I know because I've been there. Because I gave my soul to someone—lived and would have died for him—almost killed him when he was half out of his mind with rage and grief over…someone he lost and wanted to avenge." She drew a deep breath. "I did the same thing you did. I waited for years. In time, I grew tired of waiting. And before he left for Ishbal again, once he'd gotten his sight back…I told him how I felt."  
Winry had always wondered…and now she asked. "Roy Mustang?"  
Riza nodded. "I told him how I felt. And he told me about Maes Hughes."  
The younger woman looked puzzled. "What about Mr. Hughes?" Riza said nothing. "I don't understand. What has Mr. Hughes got to do with—"  
"They were lovers. Before Gracia. Before Elycia. Roy let…he let Hughes go. It….it hurt him. He did it because it was the right thing—because it was what Hughes wanted."  
Winry was speechless. "He—he—but….he loved his wife! He loved her!" she protested.  
"He did." Riza nodded. "And a part of him still loved Roy. A few times they came..close…afterwards. Roy wouldn't let it happen. Even if he wanted that more than anything. Roy Mustang refused to dishonor Maes' choice or his family. When Hughes was killed, a part of Roy died too. It was terrible to see. It hurt me to watch him. He'd come to work pale and thin. I had to force him to eat. Had to caution him about drinking too much. He'd sit alone in the dark and drink and cry and even thought about taking his own life. He wasn't thinking straight. He said I didn't understand. After that…all he could think about was bringing Bradley down and finding Hughes' killer."  
She couldn't believe it. Roy Mustang…and Maes Hughes?  
Riza continued. "When he went after Envy…he went out of his mind. It…it was as if he'd lost all his humanity. He became a killing machine—a monster. And when I held my gun to his head, do you know what he said to me, Winry? Go ahead and shoot. And," her voice dropped to a whisper, "the only thing that stopped him was when I told him I'd turn the gun on myself afterwards. That if I killed him I'd kill myself. That got to him. But he was crying for Maes in the tunnel, screaming and cursing at me and at Ed for stopping him from avenging the man he loved with the whole of his being—a man he gave up for the sake of that man's happiness. So please….do not tell me I don't understand. Not after what I've seen. Because I've felt what you felt and I did what you did. I broke down before he left for the Ishballan camps with Dr. Marcoh and Miles and Scar. I told him how long I'd been in love with him—that he must have known, how it was tearing me apart…that more than anything, I wanted him to feel my love—and love me in return." She glanced away sharply, uncomfortable with such candor. "Do you know what he said to me, Winry?"  
'N-no…"  
The cognac eyes glistened. "He told me he knew. He'd always known. And that it would have been a simple thing to give me what I wanted. But—" she looked proud, "he said 'you are too important a person in my life to risk over something so trivial as desire.' He knew that if we crossed that line we'd never have that same level of trust and understanding again. And that trust was something he told me he did not intend to live without. 'I saw how you fell to pieces at Lab 5. In that moment, Riza was gone. You lost yourself. I do not ever, ever intend to see you lose yourself again—and if I take you to bed that will happen…and it will not change my nature or ease my loss of losing Maes. Are you truly willing to throw away the trust between us?'"  
The whistle of the 4pm non-stop to Central echoed over the hills. The mountains surrounding them were hazy blue with wood smoke rising from the valley below. The wind was picking up, scattering skeletal leaves and swirling them around the two women who sat pondering their choices on the banks as the light began to slant and fade. "The Isbhalans have a saying," Riza said at last. " 'Those who push the river will be swept out to sea. Those who trust the river's flow are carried safe to the shore.' There's truth in that, I think."  
"I'm not sure I know what that means," Winry answered softly. The engineer in the valley below sounded his whistle and it sounded like cry of mourning. It could have come from her heart or Riza's.  
Riza smiled a little. "Whatever we feel, we can't force another person to be who they aren't. And we can't let anyone make us into who we aren't meant to be. Roy told me that the night he cried in my arms over Maes Hughes. And I understood that what I thought I wanted of him was born of hero worship—of depending on him when my father died, on so many, many things. But if I truly loved Roy Mustang, I had to accept him as he was—and that he would never be my lover-but the love he did feel for me was something worth keeping. And so I will keep watching his back…but I'll also open my heart to other possibilities." The smile deepened. "And so will you…"

 

Two kisses later, Edward Elric had achieved a status the whores in Madame Christmas's establishment called "A.F.O.D.T.W."—All Fucked Out—Dead To the World. "Edward?" Roy nuzzled his lover's ear. "You still in there?"  
"Snnnnggghhhhhhzzzzzzzzzzzzz"  
Edward was definitely not still in there. And Roy lay there gazing down at that sleeping face much longer he would be hard as a rock again in no time flat and Ed would wake up and most likely want to clumsily try to fuck Roy to death. "You've read one book—now you know everything," Roy chuckled fondly. "Not much one for finesse. Practice makes perfect, you know."

He remembered that first time with Maes, back when they were still cadets. First time he'd seen that massive hunk of prime Amestrian beef pointed in his direction he'd nearly chickened out. Oh yes—he'd read that book. He had a pretty good idea what to expect. Problem was, the gentlemen in the illustration were not hung like livestock. He had closed his eyes and regretted with all his heart that at moments like this an atheist has nobody to pray to.  
Maes surprised him—he was gentle. Patient. He took his time, waiting until Roy was literally on his knees begging for it—and even then there was no rush.  
It could have been the end of their affair—worse, could have been a very embarrassing trip to the school's infirmary. Instead it had been the most incredible night of sex of his life…

…until now. And somewhere on the other side of the Gateway his personal saint was probably laughing his balls off. See, Roy? What did I tell you when we said goodbye in the Gateway, moments before Truth took your sight? 'Stop pushing the river, Roy. Stop living from the neck up. Let Life carry you where you need to be. Want to know what a hero is, buddy? A hero is a bronze statue covered with pigeon shit. Live, for god's sake. You've turned your heart into a one-man cemetery and the tombstone has Maes Hughes carved all over it. You want me to be at peace? Fine—make peace with your self and if you find someone—anyone—who can knock down the walls and get under your skin and drive you crazy…be with him. That's the best way to remember me. Take that love and pass it on. Okay?"

 

He slipped out of bed slowly and with great reluctance. Ed didn't so much as twitch an eyelash. He fetched a warm wet cloth and a clean towel and gently bathed and dried him, then tidied up himself. The bed, he recognized, was going to be a problem. Too narrow for sleeping comfortably, and to his chagrin he noticed that one of the bed rails—the left one, had been snapped off the bed frame—probably by a frantically flailing automail foot. Shit. And we didn't even hear it hit the floor. Crawling down on his knees, he located the crank that adjusted the height of Ed's bed and lowered it to the same level as the fold out chair Roy had slept in nearly every night since Ed was admitted. He pushed the chair close so they were roughly level, laid down and tried to pull his lover close. They were the same height now, and asleep Edward was bonelessly relaxed and weighed approximately half a ton. Fuck it. Roy scooched and wriggled until he was lying uncomfortably in the crack between the bed and the chair. It jabbed him in the ribs and if the bed moved and he fell it would be embarrassing as hell and awkward to explain. On the other hand Ed was now burrowing his face into the curve of Roy's neck and murmuring something like 'you bastard…why'd you pull out…' Roy smothered a laugh, kissed his lover very lightly on his bandage, right over the wound that could have killed him, and drifted off, a smile on his face and a mass of livid bruises blossoming all over his back and buttocks—some of which perfectly matched a set of automail toes…  
…..TO BE CONTINUED….


	10. CRUCIBLES AND CHEMISTRY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Resembool Winry sacrifices to the past in the fires of Pinako’s forge—but already there are signs that even little children learn from their parents—the good and the bad. Roy shocks Maria Ross with hickies and requests for…makeup? Dr Knox kicks Ed out of the hospital—and back at the Palace a certain book from Madame Chistmas gives Ed the final insight as to why his marriage went so terribly astray…

HALF LIVES Chapter 10: Crucibles and Chemistry  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

 

She was packing up her personal belongings for shipment to Rush Valley when she accidentally dumped over her jewelry box. Not a lot in there—a few items that belonged to Granny and her mother that she was keeping for Nina. Jewelry wasn't practical in a workshop. Most of the time her wedding ring hung on a leather thong around her neck to keep it out of the way.

The screw. The one from Ed's arm. The one that I forgot to connect and almost got him killed when his arm broke down in battle. She was always so damned careful about such things, kept such an accurate inventory of parts for each and every automail limb she worked on. She asked her self now and then over the years if she'd left it out by accident or 'accidentally-on-purpose', since Ed never wrote or called or showed up at all unless he needed repairs or a refit. And she'd kept it all those years in her jewelry box—because it was one place Ed would never think to look.  
The automail arm was replaced by the flesh he had reclaimed thanks to Al's final sacrifice. The connectors bolted to his skeleton—the bones had grown around them. They would remain with him until he died. The new arm had formed itself around the nerve connection wires—they could never be removed either. He didn't need this screw. And I guess he doesn't need me either. His four spare legs were crated and on route to Central. No doubt he'd have no trouble getting a new mechanic to take care of him—since he was so bad at taking care of his automail on his own. She'd taken into consideration that he'd eventually fill out some. He had grown so fast after Al's return that she had been refitting him every month it had seemed. Ed was not getting taller but in time he'd fill out and those legs she had crafted would be set aside and replaced for good. Just like me.

She tucked Nina in for her nap and gave Maes a cookie. "Stay here with Den," she told him and he offered her one of those toothy, mischievous grins that made him look uncannily like his father, right down to that stubborn twig of hair that poked up above his forehead. Maes was already filling out, though. He'd have his grandfather and uncle's build and he tottered after her on stout little legs, tugging fiercely at her coveralls whenever he wanted attention.  
Down in the workshop there were a half a dozen orders to be filled. Granny had been finishing up the right arm and shoulder of a youngster from Wisteria Valley—a boy about 12 years old. Per Rockbell policy, all the parts were carefully inventoried, labeled, catalogued and sorted prior to final assembly and fitting. The screw on the inventory was the same size as the one she'd kept in her jewelry box. Better this way, Winry thought, switching the screws and attaching a new inventory tag. It will help someone else's son have a good life. The screw intended for the new arm was dropped back into the parts bin, the tiny leftover tag tossed into the forge fire.

Unlocking the safe, she removed a smallish ingot of pure gold. It was used to draw the fine wires which would connect human nerves to machinery without being rejected by most bodies. It weight only a few scant grams. Gold was hard to come by.  
She took a small graphite crucible down from the foundry shelf and dropped the ingot in. From her pocket she removed several pairs of earrings she'd had since Ed gave them to her as a thank-you when he got his first pay as a dog of the military. After all, he couldn't have done it without her help. She'd had all new holes pierced in her ears by Granny so she would wear all of Ed's earrings at once as well as the pair her mother had given her when she was five. One by one, she dropped them into the crucible. She removed her wedding ring from her pocket. She snipped through the leather thong and with shaking fingers laid it gently on top of the ingot and the earrings. Then, taking up heat-resistant tongs, she placed the crucible into the heart of the forge, tears slipping down her cheeks.  
Granny would weigh the ingot before drawing surgical gold wire. She would note that it was a few grams heavier than her records. She would also notice that Winry wore only her mother Sarah's earrings now. She wouldn't inquire after the ring. Pinako was no fool—and she would agree it was right and fitting for the gold to be purified by fire and then used to serve the needs of other wounded souls.

 

Upstairs, Den snoozed peacefully on top of Maes favorite toy—a stuffed kitten Uncle Al had given him. "Kitty!" Maes frowned. "Move, Den!" Den opened one rheumy eye and regarded this human pup with disinterest. She was old and tired and the sun felt good on her back and the toy was soft under her chin. "MOVE, Den! I want KITTY!" She closed her eye again and began to snore softly.  
Maes toddled over to where Mama had left a pair of her welding gloves on the chair. Snatching one with both hands, he stomped back to Den and did just what Mama did when Da wouldn't move from his big chair in his study where all the books and do-not-touchy things were kept. Where Da usually slept before leaving and not coming back for a long time.  
"Den? What the—" Pinako had come in the front door, arms full of groceries when Den barreled past her, knocking the old woman down, rocketing down the stairs and taking off as if her life depended on it.

 

"I've got to get to the office."  
Roy bent down and Ed did not seem willing to let him up. He was getting hard again, damn it, and so was Ed—but duty before pleasure. Amber eyes regarded him keenly. "Last night…."  
Roy smiled. "Last night."  
Ed's face reddened. "That…that was…"  
Roy's hand smoothed Ed's bare chest. "Yes. It…was." Roy leaned in closer. "Now, do me a favor. I have an assignment for you."  
Ed looked intrigued. "What's that?"  
"The book."  
Oh. That book. "Er….what about that…book?"  
Roy pulled a pencil out of the nightstand. "Make notes."  
"Ahh…notes?" Ed gulped nervously.  
"In the margins—or in your journal." Roy sounded far more nonchalant than he felt. "Make note of anything…you…you know…find….interesting. Anything meriting…"  
"—further research?" A tentative smile. "Yeah. I can do that."  
"I—I mean…you know…anything that you'd like to discuss or whatever." By the powers, Roy Mustang was stammering. "Or—you know—anything you don't feel—"  
"—I got it." Ed finished. The heart under Roy's palm began to hammer again. "Get your own copy. Make some notes for me, okay?"  
"Will do. Now go back to sleep."  
Ed peeked cynically under the sheet. "With this? You gotta be kidding!"  
Roy brushed his mouth gently over Ed's and then leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "They'll be in to check your vitals—and the only thing they want to see in your mouth is a thermometer."  
"You're no goddamned fun, Mustang." Ed groused as he pulled the blanket up to his chin. "Fuck you!"  
"Page 37!" Roy countered with sadistic glee. "Now go to sleep!"

 

The underwear was a total loss. Roy stared at the stained, stiff cotton and stuffed it into the dirty laundry hamper. The fact that it was a few sizes larger than Ed's might raise eyebrows but what the hell, he would be damned if he was going to march back to his office in a pair of shorts that had been soaked in…never mind.  
His trousers. Thank the powers that he sported the long formal dress coat these days. The splotch was undeniable and impossible to hide. That was the one advantage of having a personal valet to handle his clothing and personal effects. Claude would tend to it with scarcely a lift of his eyebrow. If the damming evidence of his precoital pleasure couldn't be removed the trousers would be unobtrusively replaced.  
Collar—so. Cufflinks. Shoes still neatly shined. Hair smoothed back under a smart military cap. Gloves. Yes. "Excellent, Your Excellency" he nodded to his reflection—then he froze in horror.  
His…neck. Shit.  
He looked like a 16 year old girl after a bottle of Stray Dog on a moonlit night during the Harvest Home festival. Short of makeup, nothing was likely to conceal Ed's handiwork. Unless-

"Ross!"  
Outside the door, Maria Ross and Denny Brosh snapped to attention. Ross had…cotton in her ears. She plucked it out of her ears, slipped the wads into her pocket and saluted. "Yessir?"  
"How the hell do you expect to protect me when you can't hear a damned thing?" Roy demanded sharply.  
Brosh turned a remarkable shade of crimson. "Sir…I…em….well…."  
"There was a GREAT deal of noise out in the hall, Sir. I checked the room to make sure neither you nor Edward were in danger, Sir. And—" her face was scalding as well now, "—it appeared you were not in need of assistance. Sir!"  
The Fuhrer and his subordinate stared at one another. Mustang nodded. "You wouldn't happen to have any make up I could borrow, would you?"  
Maria Ross barely had time to salute before dashing down the hall and locking herself in the sanctuary of the ladies's room, overwhelmed at the horrific mental image of His Excellency in frosted pink lip gloss, Evening In Arugo Blue shadow and false eyelashes. She perched on the toilet lid and hugged herself, tightly, rocking back and forth, back and forth, trying to drive the thoughts out of her mind of Mustang—mustache regrown—prancing around the Capital in one of his beloved miniskirts. "Riza…please…for the love of GOD…get back here and shoot him before he asks to borrow my panty hose!"

 

"Getouttathatbed, goddamnit!"  
Ed put down his orange juice and stared at his doctor. He'd devoured his breakfast tray, begged another one and was contemplating a raid on the vending machines before Dr. Knox burst through the door, cigarette dangling from his sour frown. "What?"  
" I SAID, GETOUTTATHAT BED!"  
"What…the…hell?"  
Knox bent down, reached under the bed and held up a steel bed rail, It had been bent—and torn off the bed frame. "They could hear you at the nurse's station," he thundered. "They could hear you in the smoking courtyard. Hell, they could hear you in fucking PEDIATRICS. Kids thought somebody was clubbing kittens and started crying. All that grunting and panting and moaning—"  
Ooops. "Er…ah…about that…" Ed looked everywhere but into his doctor's furious eyes.  
"—the screaming, the cussing…the sound of bed rails being broken…and believe me—the way you were screaming the Fuhrer's name it was pretty obvious you were either being tortured, interrogated or reamed up the ass. And frankly," he took a deep puff and spewed the smoke into Ed's face, "I don't give a good goddamn WHAT he was doing…but if you're well enough to twist yourself into a pretzel and squirm around with Roy Mustang like a couple of greased weasels in heat, you're taking up bed space. Now, get up, get dressed and get the hell out of my hospital!"  
Once he had locked himself in his office, Dr. Owen Knox dropped down onto his battered leather sofa and laughed so hard he nearly swallowed his filter tip. "You're not the only one who's getting better, boy," he chuckled, wiping his eyes and nose. "Kick Roy's ass good and get him out of that goddamned Mausoleum he's been holed up in since Maes died."

 

"Master Edward. It's good to have you back again."  
Edward nodded to the butler who welcomed him in, taking his overcoat and suitcase. "Uh…Sebastian, right?"  
The tall, thin man nodded. "At your service. His Excellency has your usual quarters ready, and I've been informed that a shipment from Resembool will be delivered later this evening—several small crates and boxes. Where would you like us to deliver them?"  
Ed looked sober. "Send the suitcases up to my room. Stick the crated stuff…I don't know…any place it won't be in the way."  
Sebastian nodded. "Very good, sir. I'll have Claude see to your laundry, if you'd be so kind as to leave it in the hamper in the dressing area. I've been informed by Dr. Knox that you are still under his supervision and are to rest as much as possible. His Excellency gave word that the second floor apartments and his own quarters are to be at your disposal. If you need anything, ring for me. Ramsay will be glad to provide whatever you might like to eat and the kitchen here never closes. Miss Sheska will be on call for correspondence and to obtain any materials or books you might require—oh, and she has asked me to give this to you. A telegram from Master Alphonse."

He'd have taken the stairs—no sweat—but Sebastian had guided him to the elevator. "You are under orders to rest and recuperate from your recent injury, sir," the butler scolded gently. Dr. Knox has instructed that you rest this afternoon until tea time. Lieutenant Colonel Falman will be here for a briefing and a chess lesson, after which His Excellency will be ringing in to advise us of his arrival. He will likely be turning in early since tomorrow morning he will be meeting with Brigadier General Armstrong and Tsar Dimitri for the signing of the non-aggression pact at ten a.m. on the steps of the Parliament. However," he emphasized with a smile, " he did state he would take a private supper with you in his quarters if you are willing—and asked me to remind you to bring your notes that you discussed this morning. He also suggested that you read page 57 from the first paragraph to the end of the chapter. He stated that he is quite curious about your opinion of the material…"

Before slipping into a warm bath, he pulled Al's telegram from his pocket. Will be arriving tomorrow around noon, prevailing winds notwithstanding. See you soon—and keep your eyes on the Eastern skies. Love, Al.  
"What the fuck….?" Eastern skies? Ed shrugged and laid it aside. He was still angry—or rather, he was still coming to terms with his anger. He wanted to beat the snot out of his little brother—and he wanted to hug him fiercely and shake him and tell him that the next time he runs off—he'd be goddamned if Al went alone. "Our souls got 'mixed up' right, Al? So you can't just dump me. We're gonna talk…and we're gonna see the world together—at least for a while. And after that…"

Well…after that…he didn't know. But he wasn't going to drive himself crazy brooding over it. Not now. Hard enough not to brood about other things. Last thing he did as he walked out of the hospital was to stop by the flower shop where a plump, pleasant-faced woman with red eyes was sitting at a booth with information about the Marcoh Children's Clinic in Ishbal. When he picked up a brochure she smiled warmly at him and told him how it had been established to provide free medical care for children in the resettlement camps and villages. "Sounds like something he'd do." He pulled out his wallet and emptied it in the donation box. Then he dug into his pocket and handed her a simple gold band. "Sir! I—I can't take that! It's your—"  
"It was. It's not anymore. And I think she wouldn't mind if I gave it to you. Marcoh was her friend, too. " He smiled. Yes. Winry would like that. She'd like that a lot. "Tell Dr. Marcoh that Ed said 'hey'—and maybe Al and I will see him soon."  
Before he could get mad at his brother or beat himself up over his failings as a father and a husband, he remembered Roy's suggestion. Looking guilty, he locked the door to his suite and pulled out the book Chris Mustang had given him. He flipped to page 57—a chapter entitled "Chemistry".

It talked about the science of physical attraction—the bubbling soup of chemicals that caused physical attraction. Intriguing…but there was more. Something about the Westermarck Effect—how children raised in close proximity from birth to age six frequently experienced reverse sexual imprinting, i.e., were not sexually attracted to one another, and that this trait most likely evolved in the human animal to prevent inbreeding.  
He read that passage again. And again. And again.  
First he felt sick.  
Then he felt relieved.  
It explained a lot. Maybe it explained everything. Not every person experienced this effect….but maybe he did. She hadn't failed. He hadn't failed. It was instinct. She'd been isolated from young men because of her dedication—her obsession—her, hell, use the word fetish- for automail. He becomes a double amputee. She helps build his arm and leg—literally he depended upon her to be able to stand and move and live a normal life. She feels possessive of her—for the want of a better word—creation. He goes away. He stays away, without contact. She sees him sporadically—during which time she goes through puberty with no outlet to express it. She sees him again—only now he's maturing too. Sees him nearly naked. Touches his body. Becomes aware of his scent, his skin…she reacts and thinks it is love.  
And he doesn't react, other than to be very embarrassed when people start trying to pair them up. Even Alphonse—shit…and Al was falling for her all the time, but he was nothing more than a soul encased in armor.  
Ed poured over the pages, over and over. Then he read further…  
"So there are chemicals that attract us to one another and chemicals that work in the reverse…but there is more to it than hormones and pheromones and brain chemicals and adrenaline. Chemistry may make your cock hard—but it takes something deeper to make you stay after the first frantic coupling.  
"Men do not join out of social pressure. Men do not join because it is the 'right' thing or the acceptable thing—the expected thing. Men come together out of desire—but they stay together because of another chemistry that is hard to define or explain. They stay together because they click on some deep level that satisfies them both in ways that are more than simply sexual. Let me put it this way—if you wake up on the worst day of your life—broke, sick, flat on your back in a hospital and the whole world howling for your head—if he's still there and never even considers leaving…there's chemistry between you. It may become profound friendship. It may, in time, deepen into a love that lasts a lifetime. Whatever—take your time. If the chemistry is true and the bond is real—you have a lifetime to discover it, day by day, together."

 

The fire had burned low. The cushions scattered before the hearth were big enough to rest on, to lean on while they shared their excellent corned beef sandwiches and coffee. They sat side by side, leaning a little into one another. They laughed. They shared comfortable silence. They played chess—then Edward leaned over and tipped Roy's king over with his own. "Checkmate. Game over," he whispered, laying the board aside and pressing Roy slowly back onto the cushions.  
Roy surrendered to the bliss of strong hands, a curious and agile tongue and finally the wonderful weight of Edward's body rising above him, belly to belly, mouth to mouth. He laughed when Ed whispered that Knox had accused them of "squirming around like a pair of greased weasels in heat"—which they were, and which felt better than heaven. They slid and kissed and clung and when Roy arched and shuddered against him Ed kept his eyes open, watching his face, savoring the pleasure and the power of making Roy fall to pieces…and then becoming whole again.

"Th…that….was…."  
Ed brushed the short black strands back from Roy's sweaty forehead. "Yes," he answered softly. "That…was."  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…


	11. BROTHERS REUNITED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The palace is in an uproar as the historic Peace Accord between Drachma and Amestris is signed…but it seems Roy has more ambitious plans than just a peace treaty—plans that could change the lives of the Elric Brothers forever. Ed makes a startling admission in a letter to Winry and Alphonse’s triumphant return to Amestris will make the history books—if Ed doesn’t beat the crap out of him first.

HALF LIVES Chapter 11: Reunion  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

 

The hot desert winds had changed during the night. There was something cool and sweet on the pre-dawn breeze that tickled his nose as he leaned against the support ropes. The spyglass was hard to look through unless you removed your goggles, but that meant your eyes would tear and sting until you got them back on again, but the pilot didn't hesitate.. That sweet breath of snow and green mountains was the scent of home.

He shouted over the roar of the wind current to his crew of five, rousing them from their sleep. "We're crossing over Ishbal," he yelled, punching the air in boyish triumph as he pointed out the frosty peaks in the distance, coming closer every minute. "The desert is almost behind us. "  
His first mate bowed respectfully. "We are making excellent time. With the wind at our backs we should reach your Central City by noon or slightly ahead of schedule."  
The pilot snapped the spyglass shut and grinned hugely. "Make sure you have the semaphore flags and signaling mirrors handy, Dr. Chen. I'd hate for us to get shot down before we reach the Amestrian Parliament." He took a sip from his water bottle and reached for another of the delicious steamed pork buns that had been provided by the Imperial kitchen prior to departure. "President Mustang has been up in a few espionage balloons, or so he's said. When he sees this beauty—" he patted the basket rail affectionately, "—he's going to be so excited. And, " he added with a flourish of his pencil and scribble pad, " he'll have to add a new word to the dictionary."  
"Aeronaut"

 

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee woke Ed even before hearing the soft, respectful rap on the door. He glanced at the clock beside the bed. It was 4:45am. He groaned and considered burrowing deeper under the covers, nestling closer to that warm, naked flesh he'd spent the best part of the night kissing and licking and sucking on and rubbing against, then thought the better of it as his stomach growled. Not just coffee—he could smell bacon and hot cinnamon rolls and orange juice. Smelled a damn sight better than he smelled right now. He needed a shower. Badly He reeked of dried sweat, musk and Mustang, and since they had been going at it most of the night, they had done just the most perfunctory of tidying up. However, Sebastian was slipping into the room now, pushing a small cart loaded with plates, polished crystal, a pitcher of fresh orange juice and, best of all, a huge carafe of what Havoc always jokingly called 'starter fluid'.  
Sebastian bowed and greeted him with a smile. "Master Edward. Good morning. I've brought your breakfast. Will you kindly wake His Excellency or shall I?"  
"I'll do it." Ed gave Roy's bare shoulder a shove. "Hey! Your Assholiness! Sebastian's got breakfast. Get up or go hungry—it smells really damn good."  
Roy grunted in protest. "Sebastian?" One dark eye cracked open with great reluctance. "I didn't order breakfast in here."  
The butler bowed and his smile deepened. "Indeed, sir. However, as you have a heavily scheduled itinerary today it seemed logical to conclude that it might save precious time bringing your breakfast to you and Master Elric so that you might have time for…a longer shower." He pulled open the drapes. "I have your morning reports and the Central Times as well. Claude has your formal dress uniform laid out in the dressing room as well as a suit for Master Edward if he feels well enough to attend. Dr. Knox sent word that if he does not tax himself and comes back to rest in the afternoon he has no objection to Master Edward attending the ceremony or the reception."  
Edward stared. Roy looked smug. "And that is why old Grumman hired him," The Fuhrer observed. "He's so efficient he makes Hawkeye look like a slacker.  
"Thank you, Sir." The tall servant knelt by the heart, added a few fresh logs to the fire and moved the chess board off the low coffee table by the hearth. Two silver-domed dishes were set out, along with a covered basket of hot cinnamon buns, butter and jam, sugar, cream, cups and juice goblets. Then he rose, bowed and excused himself, leaving Ed and Roy alone at last.  
"Easy, Ed! There's more in the kitchen. You don't have to eat the pattern of the china!" After two weeks of bland hospital fare, Edward attacked his breakfast as if he were going into battle, fork flying and gulping down nearly all the orange juice by himself. His stomach had bothered him for months—no, over a year now, churning with acid and killing his appetite. Two nights of brain-melting sex and he'd recovered the appetite of the fifteen year old he had once been, back when he was eating to feed his own body and that of his brother inside the Gateway.  
Roy smirked at him and leisurely sipped his coffee. Sebastian had been briefed long ago by Hawkeye that Roy was a masterful procrastinator and that the only way to keep him on schedule was to outwit the Fuhrer and give him a daily routine that offered very little wiggle room. He had undoubtedly assumed that Ed and Roy would get sexually distracted in the shower and so planned ahead so that the Fuhrer could eat both his sausage AND his lover and not be late for the treaty signing at 10:00am. "If you feel up to it, I think you might enjoy the reception," he commented in a tone of voice that was calculated to sound as casual as possible. "There's a delegation of scientists and researchers coming with the Tsar to discuss plans for a Science and Alchemy summit I plan to host here in the spring. I was hoping that both you and Alphonse might…"  
Ed dropped his knife and nearly choked on his mouthful of coffee. "Scientists? And alchemists?" he spluttered. "Together? In the same room? They'll murder each other! Especially here, where we let some maniac run the country and threaten the world's peace for damn near forever. The same fuckin' bastard that blinded you and killed all the people in Xerxes, in case you haven't forgotten, " he added sharply. "Last time I tried to have a talk with a physicist the son of a bitch had built some sort of uranium bomb and wanted us to hand it over to that asshole, Bradley. Fucker tried to use alchemy to escape and got sucked through the Gateway. Hope they shoved him in the same corner of hell as Envy. They've got a lot in common," he groused, throwing down his napkin."  
"I remember," Roy nodded. "Good thing you and Al were clear-headed enough to destroy his research. But Ed," he leaned in closer, "our world is changing. We've learned so much from opening ties to Xing and Alphonse bringing back all that information on alkahestric healing techniques. Drachman scientists are making amazing strides in electronics and physics. Creta excels in mathematic studies. And Aerugo, as you well know, was the birthplace of radio and the phonograph. Instead of running around spying on each other's research, why not bring our best minds together here at the center—here in Amestris—and learn from one another? 'Alchemist, Be Thou For The People'. That's the creed we were taught, yes?"  
Ed looked skeptical. "Why the hell should we trust them?"  
"Why the hell should they trust us?" Roy countered softly. "After what we've done? A nation built on a lie, Edward. Father and his scientists and the homunculi—those bastards that created Bradley, the Undead Army—an entire nation created for the sole purpose of slaughtering its own citizens as sacrifice so a monster could become a god? Nobody knows that better than you." He reached out and took Edward's hands in his own. "You sacrificed everything-everything—to stop that madness. You and Alphonse and Hohenheim paid with your lives, one way or another. So did countless others. Grumman helped the nation stabilize and pulled us back onto our feet. I'm determined to move forward. We can't undo the damage—but we can change the future. I'm not here—" he gestured dismissively at the elegant room around him, " for this. I could walk out of this palace and move into the barracks and live like a common soldier and that would be perfectly fine. I wish I could, sometimes. The Palace is national property and they want me here so I stay. But I swear to you Edward—just like I swore to Maes—I intend to do everything I can for my country. The Elric family saved this nation. Old Grumman gave the people reassurance that the old regime was put down and cleared away. My work, now, is to build bridges to the outside world—not to burn them." Roy's dark eyes were full of hope and determination—and old fashioned stubbornness. "Besides," he added softly, "you still owe me 520 cenz."  
Edward smiled, leaned back and grinned at his lover. "Damn right—and I'll pay it back the day you figure out how to get alchemists and scientists to cooperate without killing each other…"

 

The reception wasn't until 11:00—Ed had no interest in attending the signing of the peace treaty. He'd have plenty of time to catch up with the Briggs team afterwards. It was too chilly to linger outdoors but the Palace staff had made the main ballroom beautiful with masses of fresh greenery from the conservatory. Roy appreciated the finer things in life but was not one for grand displays of wealth or style. He opted for simple elegance and the hall was decorated with the colors of both Amestris and Drachma. The reception would last from eleven to one and there would be a formal ball hosted by the Fuhrer that night. "So…who's gonna be your escort," Ed had teased his lover. "Every President has to have his First Lady."  
"Grumman was a widower. I'm a bachelor. The first time the protocol team pointed out that I must not go unescorted to a dinner or ball, I told them I'd bring Aunt Chris. And I meant it."  
Ed whistled. "You didn't dare."  
Roy looked smug. "Read the clippings from the press archives. She charmed everyone. And she'll be here tonight."  
Ed looked thoughtful. "Bet you wouldn't dare attend one of those events with a…?"  
"—with a man?" Roy finished. "I wouldn't hesitate. But only if the gentleman in question was comfortable and would enjoy being there with me."  
Ed glanced away, coloring. "Yeah…well…some guys don't dance."  
"Dancing is hardly the point. I prefer good food, good conversation and intelligent company. If I want to dance, I'll do my duties to the wives of my guests and everybody will be satisfied. Ed, they've been talking about me behind my back since the day I enlisted. That's why Maes kept badgering me to get married, that it would ease my way to the top though the social ladder. I never played the game—and I'm still here. So if a man chooses to be my companion and lover and decides he wants to stand with me in the public eye, that's fine. And," he added softly, "if he prefers that our relationship remain private, that is not a problem. Ever. Either way, it wouldn't change my feelings for the man in question."  
Ed nodded. "Thanks for…understanding."

 

Around 9:00 am, Claude inspected his handiwork. Roy looked elegant in his formal dress uniform, complete with medals and ceremonial sword. The valet whisked imaginary lint from the Fuhrer's coat, gave his shoes another swipe with the polishing rag and adjusted the angle of Roy's cap. "Very good, sir," he ventured, although his manner betrayed a perfectionism that hinted that he would never be completely satisfied that his master would be turned out as well as he would like.

Now he turned his attention to Edward. "Master Edward, don't you agree that your clothing looks better now that I have tailored it for a better fit? The new brown coat hangs properly, and that olive green waistcoat and trousers compliment your coloring. And that high collar neatly conceals…certain things that are not for public view." He was referring to the livid love bites Roy had planted on the side of his neck as revenge for the hickies Roy had been forced to conceal with cosmetics.  
"Yeah, it's okay, thanks," Ed muttered, shrugging out of the coat and tossing it on the bed. Claude retrieved it immediately and placed it back on a hanger before bowing and excusing himself, leaving Ed and Roy alone at last. "What a jerk," he grunted.  
"Can be," Roy allowed. "But you look damned good. Well," he corrected, "you'd look better naked and covered in sweat with my cock in your mouth…but one can't have everything"  
Ed tossed him a wicked grin, "Oh yeah? I was thinking about the same thing. Why don't I get you all hard so you can't go out in public until we mess up some bed sheets?"  
Roy laughed, kissed him warmly and then headed for the stairs. Ed retreated to his study, laughing quietly to himself. Why don't I get you all hard so you can't go out in public until we mess up some bed sheets?  
It occurred to him that he had never joked like that to his estranged wife. Ever.  
It also occurred to him that there was a letter that needed writing.

 

Dear Winry—  
Thank you for helping Havoc and Breda and Hawkeye get my stuff packed up. The crates arrived last night. I was released from the hospital yesterday morning and I am staying with friends at the Palace. I only mention this because you might see me in the papers with some Drachman scientists. Mustang has some weird idea about trying to get alchemists and physicists together as partners. Lots of talk about sharing knowledge. I'll believe that when I see it and have a 520 cenz bet running that it will all go straight to hell.  
I had a talk after breakfast with Colonel Hawkeye. For the record—I DID NOT SEND HER DOWN THERE TO PUT YOU IN HANDCUFFS AND NEITHER DID ROY MUSTANG. I gave her hell for it—her and Havoc and Breda, too. They kinda shocked me. They started reading all the rules and regs and shit that the read you about what constitutes assault with a deadly weapon. They told me that as officers of the peace the only thing that kept the State from issuing the warrant and arresting you was that I lied over and over to everybody about how I got my skull cracked. I even lied to my own brother. I feel like shit about it but I don't want to get him upset. He's supposed to arrive here this morning but didn't say which train he's coming on –something weird about the sky. Anyway, I've told everybody that knows NOT to say shit to him about how I got hurt. Don't get me wrong—I'm doing this for him. If you decide to tell him it's up to you.  
There's a couple of pages stapled to this you need to read. It's about some research I did on something called the Westermarck Effect as well as a few notes of my own. Winry, you need to read this—and you need to read it now. It can make things easier in the future for all of us.  
He sighed heavily and took another swallow of coffee. This was the part he didn't want to write. Winry, sooner or later you're going to find out, so I'm going to go ahead and tell you the truth. There is someone else. That person isn't the reason I have asked for divorce. But for the first time in my life I'm feeling what I was supposed to feel about you—what you wanted me to feel. I won't say I'm in love with this person. It's too soon and he and I both agree that diving headlong into things right now when I'm vulnerable is wrong—and he has felt this way for a long time and didn't say anything because even though he could see something was making me unhappy he didn't want to bust us up or interfere. Right now we are taking it day by day, no expectations.   
To get right to the point of it, I have grounds for divorce on the basis of assault. And now you have grounds on the basis of adultery. I will not lie about that. I am not going to throw this in your face but I'm not going to lie and knowing you you'd dig it out anyway. I intend to set up a bank account in your name in Rush Valley and deposit cash into it for whatever the kids may need. That includes hiring help. I mean it, Winry. Get a nanny—hire some woman to move in and take care of our kids. You'll be under enough stress getting the new studio off the ground. Don't get all proud about how you can do it all yourself or that you don't need my damn money. DO IT. I was a lousy husband. I am a lousy father—but this at least I CAN get right.  
I will be staying here in Central. Roy let me take over the quarters I normally stay at again and he's agreed that the rooms adjoining mine can be made into a nursery and playroom for the kids when they visit until I decide on a permanent home. If you need to reach me, contact Sheska since she's Roy's secretary and can find me anywhere, anytime.  
I haven't told Mrs. Hughes that we split up. I guess I'll leave that to you.  
Edward

 

Within the first five minutes at the reception table, Edward Elric learned his first word in Drachman: Tovarich. Comrade. Associate. Colleague.

After the first hour with Maxim, Andrei and Pyotir, they taught him a new word that they all agreed was more than appropriate. He couldn't spell it but he could pronounce it: "drrook". It meant "friend"

It had been a long, long time since he'd been in such congenial company. All three were young—Pyotir was not yet thirty—and had been curious all their lives about alchemy. Each one held a doctorate from the State University at Stoltovgrad in one scientific field or another. Their Amestrian was excellent, they were avid researchers and world travelers—and in many ways nearly as optimistic about the future as Alphonse. The three of them dragged Edward out of his reticence with eager questions and before he was aware of it Edward was utterly engrossed in conversation.

From the head table, Tsar Dimitri elbowed Fuhrer Mustang in the ribs. "This idea you have, Tovarich. I thought it was madness. But now I see those boys together, talking away with such enthusiasm and I am thinking to myself that perhaps this Roy Mustang is not as big a fool as I was led to believe."  
Olivier Milla Armstrong smiled into her tea. "He's a bigger fool than that, Dimitri. And while I personally detest you, Your Excellency, only slightly less than I do my younger brother, I trust you to take care of my country. If you can bring us to the table as allies, open trade to Xing and persuade Claudio of Aerugo to sit down to negotiate a cease fire, I just might forgive you for being such a puny specimen when compared to the Armstrong line. Not," she added quickly, "that I would ever consent to breed with you-"  
On schedule, the city bells began clanging the chimes of noon. They were nearly drowned out by a wave of shouts and cheers from outside the Palace.  
Roy glanced at his watch. "Right on time. Just as expected." He rose to his feet, tapped the Radio Central microphone and called for quiet. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special surprise for you. If you will turn your attention to the windows to your immediate left, you will notice we have a guest arriving from the east—the first Amestrian Aeronaut." Roy pronounced that last word carefully. "Through the mutual cooperation between the alchemists of Amestris and the alkahestrists and engineers of Xing, we are proud to announce the arrival of the Xerxes, the first lighter-than-air craft to cross the Great Desert."

It was bedlam.

All the doors were thrown open, but that wasn't enough. People were climbing out of the windows and shouting and cheering. Before Edward could rise, Alex Louis Armstrong had whisked him off his feet, carrying him over his head as he stormed through the crowds. "Let me through!" he bellowed cheerfully. "Ah, Edward Elric! To think that we should live in these golden times—"  
"PUT ME DOWN!" Ed shouted, struggling to get out of the giant's grip. "What the hell are you doing?"  
Moments later he was standing in front of the crowd control ropes with Roy, Dimitri and Olivier Armstrong. All three of them were smiling broadly.

Edward stared up…and up…and up at the Xerxes. It was, as he whispered under his breath, "fuckin' humongous" . The silk outer envelope was easily three times the size of any hot air balloon he'd ever seen before with a huge gondola of woven wicker with multiple burners. And at the rear, there was a propeller of some sort made of lacquered bamboo. Hanging over the sides were the flags of Amestris, Drachma…and Xing. There was also a tiny pennant of deep red bearing the Flamel Cross that made Ed's mouth hang open in dumbstruck surprise. "No…couldn't be," he whispered.  
A tall figure swung over the side of the basket, clad in quilted silk, furs, a tight leather cap and brass fitted goggles. A second figure joined him-taller and clad in scarlet and gold, followed by a slender figure in black, an automail hand glinting from under its sleeve. They marched up to the visiting dignitaries and the taller one bowed. "Friends, perhaps I am too late for the signing of the peace treaty—but perhaps you would not mind if I stay for supper?"  
Roy Mustang bowed. "Tsar Dimitri, it is my honor to present Emperor Ling Yao of Xing, his royal bodyguard Lan Fan….and Aeronaut Alphonse Elric."  
"BROTHER!" Alphonse tore off his flight helmet and grabbed Edward in a fierce embrace. "BROTHER! I'm so glad to see you! It's been so long—"  
"I….can't…BREATHE!" Ed was still winded after being man-handled by Alex Armstrong. He was still very shaky. But he wrapped his arms around Alphonse and returned the hug. "I'm going to beat the crap out of you later," he hissed in Al's ear, "but I'm glad as hell you're home. I've missed you."  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…


	12. IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphonse has captured the nation’s imagination as the first Amestrian aeronaut—but his first concern is the healing of his brother Edward with the help of Xingese  
> Alkahestry, the foul tempered bedside manner of Dr. Knox—and some gut-busting laughter. Edward and Alphonse also demonstrate the fine art of swearing in Drachman AND Xingese, while we get a rare glimpse into the past of Roy Mustang through the eyes of Madame Christmas.

HALF LIVES Chapter 12: Brothers in Sickness and Health  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010

Christmas Mustang never did forgive Maes Hughes for breaking her little boy's heart.

Her boy. "I didn't birth him, by damn, but he's mine," she told Ed, smiling at his awkward attempt to be a gentleman and light her cigarette at the reception when she cruised by the table of young geniuses teaching Edward to swear in Drachman. Hughes had been a good man with a good heart-but he'd hurt Chris Mustang's boy-had torn out Roy's soul—once on Maes' wedding day and once again at his funeral. "I don't mind tellin' you," she added with a whiskey laugh, "that it's damn good to see Roy-Boy among the living again. Damned good."  
"Vat vas dot about?" Pyotir wanted to know.  
Ed glanced up at the head table and for an instant black eyes flicked to his, held and warmed Edward better than a shot of the Fuhrer's best brandy. "Beats the—what's that word?"  
"Yebat," Alexi offered helpfully.  
"Beats the yebat out of me," Ed shrugged, grinning at the old woman as she drifted back into the crowd.

 

Roy had been so young when his father died. His mother—lovely, that one—had not survived Roy's difficult birth. Breech baby. "Born to land on his feet, no matter what," Chris had joked to her brother, but they stopped laughing when the Army doctor emerged from the delivery room, his tidy white apron soaked in much too much blood.  
His father had been killed in a border skirmish with Creta. A grenade blew off the outstretched hands as he attempted to activate the arrays on his gloves. Helpless, he sank to his knees, a Cretan bayonet bringing his brief career as a State Alchemist to a close.  
They sent his younger sister the flag from his coffin, but kept the silver pocket watch. She got his pension—a pittance to raise an orphaned boy on, but she was canny and thrifty and with careful investments she banked a sizeable nest egg for Roy's future. And it would be a bright one—if she had to pay for his schooling and alchemy training by sucking every goddamned cock from Pendleton to Dublith and back again. It was worth it. He was worth everything.  
Roy had promised her a new palace when he blew up her bar. "Is this big enough?" he asked slyly on the day of his inauguration.  
"Too damn big for me," she shook her head, refusing his generous offer of her own private apartments in the Presidential Palace. "Too damn big for you too—unless you share it."  
Roy shook his head. "I believe we agreed to table that discussion topic until further notice."  
"Cut the crap," she shot back. "Roy, how long has it been since Maes died? And that bastard—bitch—whateverthefuck it was that killed him is gone. So what are you gonna do with the rest of your life?"  
Roy's face became expressionless. "Serve my country and protect its people. That is more than enough to occupy my time."  
But as she stood on the Palace grounds, shivering in her fur coat, she watched her son's face as he witnessed the reunion of those Elric brothers. Roy's eyes were always cool and guarded in public, his expression carefully schooled to conceal his thoughts. A corner of his mouth turned up. It wasn't a smirk. The gaze was warm and steady and proud. Roy lifted his chin and straightened, as if remembering himself, stepping forward to greet Alphonse Elric as a national hero. That younger Elric brother was a looker, that was for damn sure. His eyes were wide and candid, concealing nothing, while Edward played his cards close to his vest, sharp and cynical and oh so vulnerable under his waspish demeanor. And yet she could see why the older brother was the one who caught hold of her son's heart. It took a wounded soul to understand a wounded soul, and for all the horrors Alphonse Elric had allegedly endured his nature was too sunny and forgiving to be in sympathy with Roy Mustang.

She didn't believe in God, but she always believed that somebody watched out for fools, drunks and misguided children. Between them both, Roy Mustang and Edward Elric had covered all those bases at one time or another. "Whoever the fuck you are," she mumbled under her breath, "take care of my boy. And Hughes? You wanna make it up to me for hurting Roy? You keep those two together, goddamn it."

 

"The wolf of the steppes has come to the fox's lair and has found the dragon circling overhead." Olivier Milla Armstrong mused quietly to her brother. "The fox will survive by cunning—even the wolf is not fool enough to risk raiding the fox's kill when the dragon can swoop down and take both of them down. "  
"You are saying, then, that the President orchestrated this show of aeronautic magnificence?" her brother asked.  
"Precisely. It will pique the curious minds of the scientists and physicists and chemists and that ilk. But more than that," she chuckled darkly, "the wolf of the steppes has learned that Amestris has taken dominance over the air, as Drachma once dominated the seas beyond her borders. She must submit, stand down and honor the treaty or see this harmless toy rain fire and blood from the skies above Brigg's mountain."

 

"Brother!"   
Under the heavy coat, the body Alphonse was clutching tightly was…thin. The topography of his sibling's face cast deeper shadows under the eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. A heavy bandage was tied to the side of his head and he could see that under the carefully combed 'wing', a good hunk of it had been shaved off. He was not quite steady on his feet and there was something concealed behind Edward's smile that gave Alphonse a sinking feeling. It was more than the wound under the bandage. A blow had been struck, yes—but the worst damage had been to the soul, not to the bone that had fractured.  
"GETHEHELLBACKINBED!" Dr. Knox shoved his way to Edward's side. "Stupid son of a bitch!" Havoc stood at his side, grinning and pushing an empty wheelchair. "Get in the goddamned chair and go back and rest."  
Ed glared back at his attending physician. One corner turned up in an obstinate sneer. He folded his arms across his chest. "Valí otsjúda!"  
Behind his glasses, Dr. Knox's eyes glinted dangerously. "What…did…he… say?"  
Tsar Dimitri nodded his approval. "He told you to piss off—and his pronunciation has a Voldovostok accent, thanks to Pyotir. We shall have to work on that, Tovarich—you must sound less provincial, as you are a man of the world."  
Alphonse glanced from his brother to Dr. Knox. Then he smiled.  
"ALPHONSE! PUT ME DOWN! You…backstabbing son of a-"  
"Ah-ah-ahhh-don't talk about Mom like that!" Alphonse chuckled, hiking across the grounds with his elder brother slung unceremoniously over his shoulder.  
"This is when you say 'Chërt voz'mí!'," Tsar Dimitri of Drachma called helpfully, chuckling into his beard.

 

Ed was mutter-spluttering to himself as Dr. Knox removed his bandage and examined the wound. "Idiot," Knox growled half to himself, half to his patient. "You're going to give yourself a hemorrhage. You'll appreciate that when you fall over dead or wind up in that chair for good with brain damage."  
"Oh, balls," Ed snapped peevishly. "And quit pokin' at me. Fucksake, I'm not some kid—"  
"Then quit acting like one. You have a relapse or hemorrhage—what you think that's gonna do to your kid brother out there—or to Mustang, for that matter? And if you don't give a rat's ass about them, think about your kids."  
"Huh," Edward sighed. "They'd be better off without me fuckin' up their-HEY!" What the hell was that for?" His shoulder ached from a hard clout from Owen Knox.  
"I'd knock your goddamn head off if it wouldn't undo my hard work." His voice was low and furious. "So just shut the fuck up before I forget that you're still my patient and don't ever let me hear you talk like that again."  
There was a soft rap at the door. "Dr. Knox? Can we come in?" Alphonse stuck his head around the door. "Dr. Chen would like to speak with you about Brother."

Five minutes later, Ed was lying on the floor, his head in the middle of an alkahestric transmutation circle. "Watch carefully, Alphonse-sama," Dr. Chen advised. "You too, Knox-sama, since your patient is—shall we say—trying your patience?"  
There was a brilliant arc of golden light that swirled around Edward's head and it felt like a thin finger of fire burned into the side of his skull and then rapidly cooled.  
There was no trace of the incision. "That's why I wanted to get you inside as fast as I could," Al told his brother excitedly, " and one of the reasons I asked Dr. Chen to come with us. I wanted to make sure you healed up after your fall." He lifted his hand in a gesture of apology to Dr. Knox. "You took such good care of him—and I'm so grateful. And I bet there's so much you can teach Dr. Chen about Western medicine. I just knew that…well…Brother gets so restless when he has to stay in bed…"  
Knox sniffed. He poked again at the smooth patch of scalp. "Seamless." He nodded. "Radiographs. Tomorrow. We'll see." He glanced at Dr. Chen. "You people have radiographs? Fluoroscopes?"  
Chen shook his head. "I have read in Western journals. I would like to see this procedure—if Knox-sama does not object. Most fascinating!"  
Sensing a kindred spirit, Knox offered his hand. "Send a car 'round to pick you up around ten. Until then—rest."  
Alphonse looked worried. "Can he come to the banquet tonight, at least?"  
Knox shrugged. "You say he's cured? Then it's no skin off my ass."  
Al yawned hugely, then apologized. "Sorry—we didn't rest much in the crossing—"  
Dr. Chen nodded and clasped the tall alchemist by the elbow. "—and you must rest yourself. I will give you some tea for the aches of the road and I will have them wake you in plenty of time for the banquet. Also," he added waggishly, "I am thinking that the freshness of the air would be greatly improved with the application of hot water and soap and perhaps the changing of your garments, Alphonse-sama."  
Al grinned at Ed. "And you thought you were the only one being bullied by your doctor?"  
"Just like that damn Ling—never says anything that isn't in a roundabout way." Ed smiled faintly back. "He's trying to say you stink, Al. Get washed and get some rest. I'll see you this evening."

As soon as his brother disappeared down the hall to the guest suite and the elevator doors closed behind the two doctors, Ed slipped across the hall to Roy's private bedroom. He was tired, damn it. Didn't want to admit it. And why the fuck did he feel so…odd…about seeing Alphonse after a year's absence?

 

The last time they'd been together was after Nina was born, the day they took that picture. The day Winry came out wearing her hair like their mother, insisting that they pose just like Ed's parents—"Only don't look so sour like Mr. Hohenheim! Smile, Ed!" she told him, gesturing for Mei Chang to get into the picture. "After all," Winry gushed excitedly, "you know you'll be part of our family for real some day!"  
Ed had given her a sharp look—but then Maes toddled up and tugged at his pantsleg. He couldn't help laughing and ruffling the boy's hair fondly. Maes may have been a surprise—but Ed would never regret his son or his daughter. Ed scooped him up and mimicked his son's toothy grin as the camera flashed.  
That was two years ago. Nina was toddling, Maes was into everything…and Ed was not there to see them grown up. His brother had left without him. Tomorrow, he'd find out if he was well enough to travel to Aerugo after meeting with Winry in Resembool one last time. And then…  
Then what?

 

"You must come visit the University at Stoltovgrad," Maxim urged.  
"Dot vould be good. Ve could arrange for you to stay as visiting professor," Pyotir seconded in his thickly accented Amestrian.  
Alexi added, "Come for summer season—less cold for thin blood. There is a dacha nearby—we three stay there in warm weather and there would be room for you—"  
"—and your bratya—bring Alphonse and we will sit under the stars and drink vodka and argue and think about this grand golden age we are hoping to build," Maxim finished.  
Bring Al to Drachma? He liked the idea. He liked it a lot. Maybe after the divorce and all the bullshit with Prince Claudio…

 

Shrugging out of his newly-tailored clothing, Ed stretched out crosswise on Roy's Presidential-sized mattress. The sheets were clean, the coverlet tucked neatly under freshly fluffed pillows. "Damn Sebastian," he grumbled. Maybe he wanted the sheets to smell like Roy when he crawled in for a nap. He had looked so goddamned good in that dress uniform….mmm…so good….  
…but he looked better out of it…

His hand wandered lazily down his belly. Odd. Sex had been…well, not at the top of his list of personal priorities. Foreplay in the house in Resembool began with a lot of resentful glares sent in his direction. Some very loud sighs of frustration. Some suggestions that Granny to put the kids to bed. Granny would nod and say she had some work to finish in the cellar. If he didn't get the hint, he was treated to a chorus of, "it's nice to have some time to ourselves". Segue into 'Ed, you're never in the mood—if I waited for you to get in the mood I'd die of old age!" and finally escalating into tears and slamming bedroom doors. Then he would wearily march up the stairs and do his manly duty…and as soon as she was snoring he would tiptoe downstairs, duck under the outside shower, dress and go back to his books.  
Now he had to concentrate hard not to think about sex. He'd come more times in the past two nights than he had in the past year of marriage. It was like he was drugged—he wanted to bury his face in that soft thatch of curls between Roy's thighs and revel in that wild, primal scent. His mouth tasted so damn good—he was surprised that he could be enthusiastic about the taste of another man's genitals…semen would never taste good but there was something that got in one's head about Roy's groans and the way he'd curse and growl at Ed while thrusting wildly into his mouth…and the smooth strong back, the pale skin that flushed as Ed sucked on it…lying belly to belly in the dark, his head in crook of Roy's elbow, one long leg curled possessively over Edward's hip…  
"Hold that pose."  
Ed froze, hand still in his shorts.  
His Excellency, the Fuhrer of Amestris, was standing at the foot of the bed, gazing down at him, eyes dark and hungry.

 

There was such a thing as being too tired to sleep. Even Dr. Chen's chrysanthemum tea didn't help. Alphonse rummaged in his suitcase for clean clothing and padded down the hall. Brother was probably still awake, nose jammed in a book—probably learning new swear words in Drachman to add to his already richly profane vocabulary. He grinned—he'd have to teach Ed some of the choice obscenities he'd heard Dr. Chen utter when a clumsy apprentice tried his patience once too often. 'Cào nǐ zǔzōng shíbā dài' was about the filthiest thing Alphonse had heard that could be yelled in frustration—'fuck your ancestors to the eighteenth generation'. Ed would love that one.  
Padding down the hall, Alphonse could hear what sounded like a volley of Ed's curses from the room across the hall from his brother's. The door was ajar. He slipped his head around and…  
"Wǒ cào!"  
The Xingese had a term for it which translated as 'the two headed dragon with twin backs." Alphonse couldn't have stuttered out the phrase even if he knew it.  
Roy Mustang's face was buried between Brother's thighs, one hand under Brother's buttocks, fingers thrusting in perfect rhythm with the bobbing of his dark head. Brother's hips were snapping up to meet each downward glide and Brother's face was turned towards the door, a swollen, flushed and lengthy phallus glistening wet against his indrawn cheek as he sucked hard on its head, his own fingers buried, curling and coaxing as Mustang shivered visibly under his touch.  
Thick gold lashes fluttered open. Ed saw his brother staring at them from the doorway, mouth hanging wide in shock.  
At that precise moment, a finger curled inside him as the tip of his cock hit the back of his lover's throat…and Roy swallowed.  
Ed jackknifed with a wild cry, the member he'd been sucking frantically flying free of his mouth with an audible pop. Roy's head jerked up a moment too late—what he'd meant to savor had caught him square across the chin and cheeks. Teasing fingers were abruptly yanked free and Roy sat up abruptly, wiped his face and glanced down at his lover who was still shuddering and groaning.  
Ed's brain finally cleared enough to register clearly what had just happened. After all those years on the road when he was so ashamed of even hinting that he'd had a wet dream for fear that Al would feel bad—Al who could feel nothing, knew nothing of desire or bodily needs—he had gotten caught at last…  
And the son of a bitch was…laughing.  
Alphonse Elric was laughing so hard he slid down the doorframe and collapsed on the rug at the foot of the bed, whooping and howling and pounding his fist on the floor.  
"Al….I…" Ed stammered, yanking a sheet over Roy's naked groin.  
The son of a bitch laughed even harder. He was grabbing his sides, gasping and tears were running down his cheeks.  
"What the fuck?"  
And then Roy lost it. He flung himself back against the mattress and roared. He laughed so hard he was turning all sorts of intriguing colors.  
And slowly, for the first time in a very, very long time…Edward Elric lost it too.  
"A-Alph-phonse," he gasped, "this isn't what you think it is-"  
"Oh yes it is!" Al hooted back joyfully. "It's…equivalent exchange!"  
…..TO BE CONTINUED….


	13. BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Alphonse left for Xing years before, Edward gave every impression of being proud and happy for his younger brother….he’d done a first class job of convincing himself that after a lifetime lived for each other, the brothers could simply go their separate ways…and in his vulnerability he blundered into an impulsive marriage that is now collapsing around him in flames. All it took was one phone call…and years of pain and betrayal finally took their toll on the Elric Brothers…

HALF LIVES, Chapter 13: BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

 

"ALPHONSE!"  
His brother was still giggling as he straightened his tie. Somewhere Claude had come up with a formal suit that fit the young alchemist with just a bit of alteration to the cuffs of his jacket. Lapis lazuli cuff links added a touch of elegance, as did the silk evening scarf draped over his shoulders, aeronaut style.  
Ed looked less at ease, tugging irritably at his tight collar. His cheeks still burned with embarrassment about being caught with his pants down and in the middle of…well…equivalent exchange… with the Fuhrer of Amestris…who thought it was the funniest thing that had happened to him in bed ever. Served him right, Ed thought, that he didn't get to come too. Asshole… "Yeah, well…y'know…I mean, I know one of these days you're gonna meet some girl…and you're gonna start…y'know…thinking…about stuff like…y'know…that."  
Blonde eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Ed? Do know where I've been all this time? In the Imperial court of Xing."  
"So?"  
"Ling has fifty concubines."  
"Whoop-de-fuckin' doo. Hope his dick wears off."  
"He has to rest sometime…and the ladies get tired of just… playing with each other. Sooooo…."  
Ed's eyes cut sharply to his brother. "Uh…exactly…what are you getting at?"  
Al's grin widened. "Fifty concubines. Do the math, brother." He glanced casually at his reflection and tousled his hair, nodding at the dashing effect. "Does a lot for a fellow's confidence," he added. "I'm not nearly so shy as I used to be."  
It took a deep wheeze of effort but Ed finally got enough air back into his lungs to speak after several minutes. "Fifty…concubines…"  
"Yup!" Al slipped on his jacket, adjusted his cuffs and headed for the door.  
"My…little…brother….and fifty concubines?"  
"Well," Al considered, "not all at once…"

 

Somehow, Roy Mustang never thought he'd use the words Edward Elric and subdued in the same sentence—unless it included words by force, with the assistance of half the Amestrian army.  
He had been seated beside Alphonse at the head table as an honored guest. He seemed glad to see Ling, made a few half-hearted jabs about old room service bills, then the conversation sort of…faded. He addressed Olivier Armstrong as 'Ma'am', shook Dimitri's hand and waved to his new Drachman friends who were now learning choice swear words in Xingese from Dr. Chen. And for the most part he answered Al's eager attempts to engage him in conversation with grunts, nods and shrugs.  
It was hardly proper for the Fuhrer of Amestris to march over, grab the not-so-little bastard by the collar and demand to know what the fuck was wrong with him. Al had been so worried, had come so far and by such great lengths to see him…and all he could do was stare numbly at his caviar-stuffed potatoes and asparagus and smoked salmon, barely poking his fork at the nine-layered torte, thick with almond cream and smothered in fresh berries.

Once the dancing started Roy stood up and drew on his dancing gloves—the ones with the arrays stitched on the inside. He made a formal bow to Tsarina Ekaterina and asked for the honor of her company. She was stout and good natured and with a snap of her fan led Roy onto the ballroom floor. Tsar Dimitri joined them, Madame Mustang on his arm. Ling Yao smiled and turned to Olivier Armstrong, who discreetly held up a small, deadly stiletto, not even favoring him with a sideways glance.  
Alphonse rose. "Brigadier General? It's been a long time since we've seen each other. Could I ….would you…?"  
Olivier rose and nodded and accepted the arm he offered.  
Ling glanced at Ed and grinned. "Well, Ed? Would you care to-"  
Ed tossed back a shot of vodka. "Fuck off and die, Ling."  
His old friend wasn't fazed by the rude retort, although Ran Fan bristled visibly. "Colonel Hawkeye? Perhaps you won't find me as disagreeable as Ed does."  
Riza rose and bowed. "Thank you, Your Highness. It would be an honor."  
Ed's eyes followed Roy as the music swept the dancers through a traditional Amestrian waltz. He moved with easy grace, eyes on his partner, making lively conversation with the Tsarina that made her blush and giggle and smile up at him, pleased by some harmless flirtation. The long-tailed formal coat showed off his broad shoulders to perfection, his simple, elegant style a broad contrast to the Tsar's masses of thick gold braid or Ling's imperial scarlet embroidered with gold and silver dragons. Ed hadn't realized he was holding his breath, and when a turn-step of second quadrille figure brought their gazes together his heart gave a funny lurch in his chest.  
I don't dance.  
Alphonse appeared at his side. "Brother, don't be shy," he whispered. "If you don't feel comfortable, why not ask Colonel Hawkeye? She's a really good dancer and she's a friend. She'd never make you feel awkward, or—"  
"I'm fine."  
"Ed—"  
His older brother's eyes sparked with an anger Alphonse had never seen before. "Drop it, Al." He rose abruptly. "I'll see you in the morning."  
Al sat down heavily in his brother's chair. The desserts and pastries were untouched. The vodka was empty.

 

It was nearly dawn when Roy slipped into his bedroom. There was a quiet snoring from a lump of blankets on Roy's side of the bed. That made him feel better, somehow, that Ed sought his comfort in Roy's pillow and not his own—or worse, in one of the guest rooms. Undressing quickly he climbed in on Ed's side of the bed and pulled the cocooned sleeper close, curling his long body protectively around the man he had come to care so much for.  
Ed blinked sleepily. "It's you."  
"No, it's Alex Armstrong." A warm kiss—comforting and soft, with nothing implied more than affection. "You okay?"  
"Yeah."  
"Go back to sleep." In the grey light Roy let the fine golden strands slip through his fingers. I l—  
No. Not yet. He couldn't handle it. Patience…goddamn it.  
His hand burrowed inside the cocoon of covers. A strong hand clasped it and Roy smiled in the darkness as he drifted off, face pressed in to a mass of blond tangles.

 

The morning mail run arrived at Resembool Depot at 5:30am, right on schedule.

By 5:47, people were tearing through the coffee shop, waving their money.  
"It's him! It's really HIM!"  
"My, look how handsome he's become!  
"Have you ever in your life seen-?"  
"—the most amazing—"  
"Ohhhh…he's so cute! Is there anything in there about him being married yet?"  
"—he's so tall and dashing—and to think he actually flew across the desert with the Emperor of Xing!"   
"—Pinako must be so proud of him—"  
"Bet Winry wishes she'd picked the other brother now…oh. And Ed's here too."  
"Where? Oh…there he is. What's with the bandage?"  
"Looks kind of peaked, doesn't he?"  
"Not like Alphonse—mmmm….those eyes are so dreamy…"

By 7:59 the last copy was snapped up, some buying several copies as souvenirs. Several merchants taped copies of the front page to their store windows, and the words "airship", "aeronaut' and Alphonse Elric on half the lips in town.

By 8:30 old Mr. Funderburg the letter carrier stopped his horse cart in front of Rockbell's Automail to drop off the daily mail. Pinako met him in her slippers as usual, fetching the old fellow a fresh cruller from the kitchen and a mug of hot coffee. "Letter from Central for Miss Winry—looks like it's from Edward. Must be missing his missus, eh? Came by military courier, so he must be at the Palace. Told the sergeant I'd take it up the hill for 'em since I was headin' this way. Wasn't pleased to let me do it, but I sez—"  
"What else you got?" Pinako cut him off.  
"Couple o' invoices-lessee—oh, and that metallurgy catalogue you've been waiting for."  
Pinako flipped through the pile. Something was missing. "Did you forget my paper, you old fool?"  
Funderburg grinned. "Sold out before I could get one. Big hubbub about some airship landing at Central."  
"Airship? What are you talking about? "  
"Crossed the desert from Xing—and I hear Alphonse Elric was flyin' the dern thing! I never heard o' suchlike. Granby said he's getting' another stack . Pick you up one and bring it by, mebbe, if I get the chance…"

By 8:05 the phone rang at Atelier Garfiel, just as the proprietor was wringing the last fragrant drops of Earl out of his teabag and pouring in the cream.

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded very subdued. "Mr. Garfiel? It's Winry. I…I need to talk. Privately. Have you got the time?"  
The rich, fruity laugh hurt her ear. "For you? Precious child, you have my undivided attention!"

By 8:46 Winry hung up the phone. "Not my fault," she repeated numbly. "Not me…I didn't…not…couldn't have made him…" There was some dry scientific article stapled to Ed's letter. She hadn't gotten to that part yet. She's scanned his missive and when her eyes reached the words there is someone else her heart just stopped for a moment. She took a deep breath, fury rising, wishing he had been there so she could…no. No. She wasn't going to do that anymore. She swallowed hard.  
Then she read the words I won't say I'm in love with this person. It's too soon and he and I both agree that diving headlong into things right now when I'm vulnerable is wrong…  
He. As in "him". As in male.  
Bile rising in her throat, she grabbed the phone and frantically dialed her craft master.  
She hasn't made Ed turn to men. "Doesn't work like that, precious," Garfiel told her kindly. "It's not like we can convert people—although I've joked that if I can make twenty straight men into faggots I get a free toaster. No, darling. Some people are like me—sweetie, I've known I was a Queen and have been loud and proud since I was in knee socks and frilly panties. Not meaning to pry, love—but was Ed…I mean, I know you have children….it can happen…but when you were upstairs in the dark with the doors locked-"  
"He was downstairs in the library with his nose in a damn book."  
"Well…" There was a moment of silence. "Ditch the bitch. Get your kiddies and come on down to Rush Valley, child. I'll be waiting with open arms!"  
She read the…what was that word? Westermarck? Those pages Ed had stapled. Yes, she'd read them after hanging up and drying her eyes. Something about children raised together not feeling sexually for one another.  
Boring. Useless. Utterly Edward. Trying to find a scientific out when he really wanted some man to…to…  
It was disgusting.  
And no. She didn't want his goddamned money and would be damned if she'd touch it. "Adultery," she said with soft significance. "Homosexuality." She couldn't imagine any Resembool magistrate who would grant Ed shared custody after reading this letter.

She checked on the children and fired up the forge. She opened one of the boxes marked "RUSH VALLEY-PERSONAL-W. ELRIC". Grabbing a brush and a bottle of black ink she blacked out the ELRIC and replaced it with W. ROCKBELL. A small manila folder of photographs was yanked out of the box. She did not open it. Instead, she tossed it into the forge without a second glance, then pumped the bellows with a vengeance as every existing photograph she owned of Edward Elric and their lives together shriveled and charred into ash and dust.

At 9:23 a neighbor burst through the back door. "Pinako! Winry! Have you seen the papers?""

At 9:25 Winry was staring at the image of a dashing young man clad in leather, his hair tousled by the wind, eyes sparkling and behind him, the largest lighter-than-air craft in Amestrian history.  
And at his side, looking awkward, was a thin man with a bandaged head. A man who apparently wasn't a real man after all. A man whose pictures had just been reduced to ashes that were then dumped down the outhouse shit hole.  
But the other one…it was as if she'd never seen him before.  
"…..Alphonse….?"

 

Brother had been distant and irritable during dinner last night.  
Brother had disappeared before breakfast.  
Brother arrived late to the formal press luncheon where Ling Yao, Dr. Chen and Alphonse were the guests of honor and there was a special presentation about the building of the Xerxes and the historic trans-desert flight. He'd barely gotten to his seat in time before Fuhrer Mustang rose to propose a toast to the scientists, alchemists and alkahestrists of the three nations.  
Roy contemplated the contents of his glass before speaking quietly to the assembled crowd. "I became a State Alchemist to serve and protect my country. Under the leadership of corrupt men, I became a tinderbox of war. There is no greater regret in my life than having been used as a dog of the military—breaking the peace, not upholding it. And to this end I make the following announcement:

"From this day forward, the nation of Amestris will no longer train its alchemists as weapons of war."  
There was a collective gasp from the crowd, echoed over hundreds of thousands of radios all over the nation., a gasp that carried beyond the borders of the nation Roy lived to serve and would die for without hesitation.

"My country was baptized in a river of blood. Our blood. The blood of Ishbal. The blood of Drachma—of Creta, and Aerugo. One man's Presidency cannot erase the past. I cannot wipe away that blood or cleanse the bitter enmity. Not in a year. Not in ten years. Not in a hundred. But what I will do—" he lifted his glass to the crowd, "is pledge my life to building bridges, not burning them. There are lands beyond our borders and on the other sides of our oceans. There may even be life beyond this world we share—I don't know. But it takes so little—so little to crush out the life of this world. I have seen that with my own eyes. I love this land of mine—as you love your own. And I would not see one man raise his hand to his brother when there is a chance—however small—that we may find common ground. Tsar Dimitri—Emperor Ling. I hold you in high regard. And I ask this of you—in spite of all our differences—for the sake of our children and the survival of the world itself-will you help me build bridges of friendship between our peoples so that humanity will have at least a fighting chance of making a better world?"  
At that moment, something resistant—something very much afraid inside Edward Elric—some nagging voice that told him he was wrong to feel so much for this man- went silent for good. He rose to his feet and began to clap, eyes meeting Roy Mustang's in a silent exchange of trust.  
And a moment later, Sheska elbowed her way to Ed's side and destroyed the moment. "There's an urgent call from Resembool. You can take it in the kitchen. It's from Winry."  
Ed paled. "Shit—the kids-?"  
"She says it's about your letter—and you're going to talk to her now or she's coming straight to Central."  
Ed hurried out of the hall and Alphonse followed, deeply concerned. Brother's expression had gone from hopeful—even loving—to stone and ice in a matter of seconds.

 

Al dashed into the kitchen and skidded to a stop when he heard the cold fury in his brother's voice. "If that's what you really think….then Maes isn't safe around   
Garfiel either. Don't….don't you dare…EVER…even suggest something so disgusting. I—listen to me, Winry….listen to me. You do NOT want to play this game. No, that's not a threat. That's a promise. If you want to call me a cock-sucker and a pervert to the magistrate and tell him I'm not fit to help raise my own son-well, that's what you're implying…yeah, well, you believe what you want to believe, because you sure as shit don't give a damn what I think or feel…Try it. Just try it—and I swear on Mom's grave I'll hand over that dossier with every goddamned x-ray-You damn near killed me and beat the shit out of my brother-"  
"ED!" Alphonse was sick at his stomach. He'd never heard such contempt in his brother's voice, not since his battle with Father and Pride. "Ed, please! Winry was just—she never meant—"  
"GODDAMN YOU, ALPHONSE!" Ed turned on him, eyes blazing. "Winry—three weeks. I'll see you at the courthouse. Be there." He yanked the phone out by the cord and flung it across the room. "You—you-" Ed was so enraged he could hardly speak. He rushed at Alphonse, fists flying, and if Alphonse hadn't studied the martial arts of Xing and under the severe tutelage of Izumi Curtis, he might never have gotten up if that clenched fist had caught him on target. Instead he grabbed his brother's forearm, kicked him off balance and flipped Ed flat on his back.

Now that he was tall and lanky, not fully grown into his height, Ed was not quite so strong. He struggled wildly, cursing and flailing but Al pinned his arms behind his back. trapping the kicking legs neatly with his own, pressing Ed's face down into the greasy linoleum of the kitchen floor. "You bastard….you bastard…" Ed screamed, bucking wildly and cursing his little brother.  
"I'm not going to let you up." Alphonse didn't dare relax his grip; Ed was so enraged he'd probably really hurt Alphonse if he got loose—but more than that, Al was afraid Ed would hurt himself. He was raving and shouting like a madman, as if he'd finally snapped after all those years-and Al didn't care. He loved Edward more than anything or anyone in this world.  
He waited until Ed had exhausted himself. It didn't take long. Healing aside, his confinement had sapped his strength. Ed finally went limp, unresisting. Face down on the filthy kitchen floor, tears streaming down his cheeks.  
Al released Ed and lay down beside him. He pulled Ed tightly to his chest, arms locked around his shoulders and waist, rocking him. "Brother…oh god, Ed….I'm sorry…I love you…I love you so much, Brother—there's nothing I wouldn't do for you….I don't know what I did to hurt you…but please…please…"  
"You…left."  
The voice was low and defeated. "We were supposed to see the world together. You didn't want me with you anymore."  
Alphonse was sick before. Now something terrible was tearing him apart from the inside—so sharp, so cold and piercing…."Edward….Ed, please…"  
" You went away. I was so alone…"  
Edward turned his face away. He didn't want to see Al or the tears that were flowing down those sunburnt cheeks.  
"…all that was left…was…her."  
….TO BE CONTINUED….


	14. HE SAID, SHE SAID, WE SAID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth is hard to swallow--truth about love more so than any other. But only bare bones honesty can give closure to the wounds Ed and Winry---and Ed and Alphonse---have inflicted upon one another. And in an empty restaurant, under the glow of Madam Christmas' jukebox, Ed learns that a kiss really can make things better...

HALF LIVES Chapter 14: HE SAID, SHE SAID, WE SAID  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

 

"Mommy and Daddy went to the war. They didn't come back."  
"That's right, Winry. And that's very, very sad. But you're very brave and you know you can be a big girl and be strong and make them proud of you from heaven."

But she didn't feel brave. She didn't feel like a strong girl. And Ed was all mad about his dad running away and never coming back. Not the same as dead-forever-in-the-dirt-with-worms-and-stuff.  
Granny told her it was all right to be sad. Granny was sad too. The thing was—Winry was sad and mad at the same time and it was hard for her to puzzle out how to feel two such very big feelings in one small girl's body.

When Mommy and Daddy were here, they were so glad to see her. She became the center of the world. Kisses, cuddles, toys and attention—whatever, whenever and no matter if it was day or night. Urey and Sara felt so terrible that the war was keeping them from Winry.  
"But see, sweetie—you know how it hurt when you fell down and skinned your knee?" Urey Rockbell told his daughter over a bowl of ice cream. "Mommy and I and Granny were there to clean up your boo-boo and make it stop hurting and help you get all better and hug you, right? There is a place called Ishbal where the grownups are really mad and are fighting all the time. Nobody is there to help the little boys and girls when they get hurt. Nobody is there to help when they are sick or if they get caught in the middle of the grownup's fight. And sometimes they die—remember your first puppy? The one before Den? How we had to put her in the ground and we put flowers there? Well, your Mommy and I can make them better and then they don't die and have to go in the ground. They get to grow up to be sweet and good like you. So that's why Mommy and I have to go away sometimes. We do it so the good boys and girls will have someone to fix their boo-boos and keep them from dying. Understand, Sweetheart?"

But she didn't understand. And like Edward, she got mad—only she wasn't a loudmouth boy like Ed who just yelled all the time and put bugs down people's back and tussled with his brother until they were both covered with mud. One day she got mad and just threw her dad's coffee cup across the kitchen. It scared her when it smashed, but it felt a tiny bit good. He was thinking about other little girls. She needed him here, with her. Now he didn't have his favorite cup anymore.

She watched the brothers next door. They would punch each other—sometimes Ed could be a real doo-doo head for socking Alphonse in the arm. One day he teased her by squishing a tadpole on her head on the riverbank when the kids were out hunting beetles. She cried and told him to stop being such a meanie. He called her a crybaby. She hauled off and slapped him, as hard as she'd seen him slap his brother. He didn't slap her back but he ran away and later apologized and gave her one of Aunt Trisha's cookies.  
Pretty soon she learned she could cry or throw something at Ed and he'd stop teasing her and try to be what Aunt Trisha called 'a little gentleman'.

Twenty odd years later, she'd fractured his skull and he'd left her for good. And the morning the paper came—the same morning Winry had locked herself in the office on the phone for so long with Garfiel, her young son Maes toddled up to Den and demanded to know where she had taken his stuffed kitty. Den thought Kitty was a satisfying thing to chew on—the rags inside were soft on her toothless old gums. She had taken Kitty off to her favorite spot under the window in the kitchen where the sun was so warm and comforting.  
Pinako saw Maes, fists on his hips, raise his voice to Den. "Den! I want my KITTY!"  
And when Den ignored him, he picked a wooden spoon off the table and began walking back to the dog in a manner that made her old blood freeze. "MAES!"  
The little boy glanced up. "Huh?"  
"Give me that spoon. Now." He handed it over. "Were you going to hit Den?"  
"I want my kitty!" he wailed.  
"Maes Urey Elric—if I ever see you hit that dog—or anything else—you'll never see Kitty again and I am going to tan your little butt so hard you won't be able to sit for a week. No go over to Den and tell her you are sorry, and leave the poor dog alone. She'll fall asleep and then I'll get you your kitty back."  
He began to cry. "Don't you know it hurts her if you hit her? Do you want to be a big meanie that nobody wants to play with? No? Then be nice and if you get mad you come talk it out with me or your mom…or your dad. That's the way big boys handle their mads, Okay?"  
"'Kay!" Maes beamed, went over and hugged Den. "I sorry. You can play with Kitty too." He glanced at his great-grandmother. "Am I good now, Granny?"  
Pinako blinked back the tears. "Yes, Maes….you're a good, good boy…"

 

"Ed? I want to show you something, okay?"  
"….yeah."

Sebastian had found the brothers huddled together on the kitchen floor after a shouting match that was so loud that security had been called, guns drawn, in fear of an assassination attempt against Fuhrer Mustang or his guests. Sebastian had shooed the soldiers away. "Family squabble between the Elric brothers, " he told them calmly. "I'll see to them."

He crouched down beside them, head inclined in respect. "Sirs. This floor is unclean." He swiped a gloved finger and tisked, shaking his head. "I shall have to speak to the staff. However," he rose with boneless grace, "if you'd like to continue your conversation in more congenial surroundings, the maid's parlor is quiet and comfortable and currently unoccupied. I can arrange for a tray to be sent up with sandwiches and coffee in about twenty minutes."  
Ed didn't raise his head, but Alphonse's eyes never left his brother's face. Finally, he drew a photograph from inside his breast pocket. "I want to show you something, okay?"  
Ed shrugged. "….yeah…"  
It was a picture taken on a summer afternoon. Edward kneeling in the tall grass near the barn outside Pinako's house, face alight, hands outstretched to a very small boy with a very large grin who was taking his first solo steps—right into his father's arms. "I love that picture," Al spoke softly. I keep it with me when I travel. It's a good picture of Maes—but it's an even better picture of you. Know why?"  
Ed took the picture and studied it silently.

"....I don't want Maes to turn out like you, Ed! I don't want him seeing what you do behind my back. You'll confuse him and maybe he'll end up like you did. He'll end up a liar and a cheater, picking up strange men in dark alleys in Central and…and god knows what else—"  
If that's what you really think….then Maes isn't safe around Garfiel either. Don't….don't you dare…EVER…even suggest something so disgusting.

Ed put down the picture and buried his face in his hands.  
"I love that picture—because that's the way you really are inside, Ed. All that love—and you protect him. You guide him. You let him stand on his own two feet—and you don't try to protect him if he stumbles—but if he falls, you're right there. You show him how to get up and keep moving. You make him proud of himself. And now he's running all over the place…"  
He reached out and gently drew Ed's hands down. His face was flushed and wet but he hadn't made a single sound.  
"Edward…Brother…that's the gift you gave me: you gave me the strength to survive the falls—the losses, Mom's death…all of it. You didn't let me die—you kept me with you because you knew you'd find a way to get my body back. You risked everything—and you gave up your alchemy to buy back my body and bring me home again." Al rose, moved the tea table aside and took his brother's face in his hands. "And we walked together every step of the way home. You nursed me back to health, helped me get my feet under me—just like Maes."  
"Just like Maes," Ed echoed softly.  
"And," Al's hands smoothed his brother's thick hair, now sticky with kitchen grease and sweat, "Maes is now running all over. And so am I—because I needed to see if I was strong enough to survive on my own. I honestly didn't know—and I had to find out. I had to have the chance to go out and fail, Brother. To fall on my ass and not have you there to help me. To have to learn to pull through on my own or find my own help." He laughed ruefully. "And I did fail. Oh, god…you have no idea,"  
Ed's eyes looked concerned. "Al?"  
"I failed spectacularly! You wouldn't believe. Remember how they kicked you out on your butt in Youswell? Happened to me too! I went hungry, got cold…didn't have a place to sleep because they were scared of my chimera friends."  
Ed scowled. "Bastards. Hope you beat the shit out of 'em."  
Al's hands slid down to his brother's shoulders and squeezed them affectionately. "Yeah—and sometimes I got the shit beaten out of me instead! But it was okay…honest, Ed. I learned. I got through it, and the whole time I was thinking, 'boy, Brother is going to laugh so hard when I come home and tell him."  
"Only you didn't come home."  
Al released his brother's shoulders and pulled his chair up close, face to face. "And I need to tell you why. It was because…." He sighed heavily. "All right. The truth."  
"You were in love with Winry, weren't you?" Ed asked simply.  
"All along. All my life." Al nodded. "And she never wanted anybody but you. I had thought, well, I'll go away, get my independence, make brother proud. And when I come back…maybe she'll see…"  
Ed shook his head with a dry, cynical laugh. "And you came back to find out she'd already made her move. "And I was thinking, 'shit, Al's gone off and left without me. He's sick of me' and all that shit. It hurt, goddamn it! We promised each other we'd see the world together—"  
"—and I wanted that too-I still want that, Ed. But….I was like a baby who just got up on his feet. I had to make sure I could walk by myself, " his voice tightening with emotion, "before I could run with you. Only…" he blinked back the tears, "only it was too late. I guess I thought you and me and Winry would be a team—and someday she'd see me, learn to love me, and I was pretty sure you wouldn't mind. Much," he added. "Weren't you a little in love with her too?"  
Ed thought about it. "Maybe," he said at last. "But I think if we'd taken the time to find out before tying the knot—if we'd just done it and then, y'know…waited and spent time, found out if we both felt the same things…we'd have known we'd get on each other's nerves too much."  
They sat in silence for a long time. Then Ed clasped his brother's arm. "Should have been you with the white picket fence and the kids and everything. I'm the one who's happiest when he's off on some damn fool mission or search. That's why—" he cut off his own words before going any farther.  
"That's why you and Roy get along good." Al finished. "Because he knows you. He knows you can't be tied down or held back—but if he doesn't close the door, you'll be back."  
Ed flushed. "Something like that, maybe."  
Alphonse's handsome face lit up with a child's excitement. "Brother..in three weeks you and Winry will sign the papers. Now—I know you both said some really, really angry things just now. But listen—just listen to me. Do you really, deep down inside, think she actually believes whatever she said to you in anger? Or—hear me out now—you said you wrote her. Did you say anything about you and Roy?"  
Ed looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I didn't say shit about Roy."  
"But did you say anything about seeing anyone else—anything at all?" Blonde eyebrows lifted slightly. "Ed…you know you're a terrible liar, so tell me the truth. Did you tell Winry you-"  
Ed shook his brother off and stalked to the window angrily. "What if I did? What—you think I should lie to her? No—I didn't say I was seeing Roy. I just told her…well…I've got grounds on her busting my head. She's got grounds…"  
Al looked suspicious. "What grounds?"  
"Adultery." Ed flung up his hands in frustration just as Sebastian entered with a tea cart.  
"Gentlemen? I took the liberty of providing some freshly baked lamb pasties and assorted cheeses and pickles, along with coffee—and for sweet I have an assortment of sweet biscuits and Drachman honey cake."  
'Yeah, thanks, whatever," Ed waved him off. As soon as the door closed behind him, Ed continued. "I sent her a clipping about the Westermarck Effect—and I told her I was dating a guy. Oh, and I told her I'd open a bank account for the kids. That's about the gist of it." He bit into the pasty, nearly as good as those he'd once shared with Maes at the Spring Festival. He'd been home for a few days last year and had taken his son off on his shoulders to pet the lambs and then to share pasties and tea on the soft thick grass under the trees. The memory made him smile.  
Al waited until Ed had swallowed. "You—one, told her sleeping with her was like sleeping with a sister due to the Westermarck Effect—and did it in wonderful over-her-head scientific terms that made her feel stupid. Two, you admitted you were sleeping with another man before signing the final forms at the Magistrate's office—and you were using science and biology to justify it as okay. And three—then you offered her money. Brother," Al shook his head in disbelief, "if I'd been your estranged wife and I'd gotten that letter I believe I'd have hit you with something a damn sight harder than a chrome wrench—"  
"Wasn't a wrench." Ed gestured at the patch of scalp that was now showing signs of short blonde fuzz growing back. "It was a fuckin' automail dick. Like they have in some of those sex shows down in Rush Valley where the women—oh, never mind," he added hastily.  
Al looked interested, filing that tidbit of information away in his mind for further research. "Whatever….at the very least it was bad timing, Brother."  
Ed shook his head. "Al-remember where I'm sleeping now. And with who. She could have read it on the front page of the Central Times or the South City Post. Because Roy's not afraid of being public."  
"Ed? Are you?"  
Ed hesitated…."well….I'm not…I'm sorta…kinda feeling my way. But if we got caught together, I'm not gonna deny it."  
Al nodded and sipped his coffee. "Okay. She's hurt and mad and shot off her mouth and you shot back. You both got personal and probably said some things you might regret the day you go to court—'cause if she shows the judge that letter and you show her your medical records—neither one of you is ever going to see Maes and Nina again. Did you think of that, Brother?"  
Judging the way Ed's coffee cup hit the carpet, he hadn't.

 

Craaaack….clang! "What was that?" Winry looked up from the finger joint she was machining. CLANG-clang—crash! "Maes!" Immediately images of her too-smart-and-curious-for-his-own-damn-good son made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She rocketed down the stairs, two at a time, to check out the commotion in the basement—  
-where Pinako was unpacking Winry's crates. "HEY! Wha-what's going on?" Piles of tools and blueprints were being carelessly dumped on the basement floor. "Granny? Why are you doing this-I've spent days getting that stuff crated up-"  
Pinako jammed her pipe between her teeth. "You're not going anywhere. Might as well get this stuff back into inventory. I figure you can get your personal stuff later—"  
Blue eyes grew enormous. "What do you mean I'm not going anywhere? Look!" she dashed to her cork board and showed her the envelope with the tickets Mr. Garfiel had paid for and she'd picked up yesterday at the station. I'm leaving on April 1st! It says so right here! That's three and a half weeks from Thursday!"  
"April first, huh?" She folded her arms and regarded her granddaughter coolly. "Joke's on Garfiel, then. Gets you a job with Godz, gives you a free place to live while you get settled, listens to you sobbing on his shoulder over the phone like he's some newspaper Agony Aunt giving advise to the broken hearted.—and then you hang up the phone and call your own husband a pervert and a faggot and accuse him of whoring off the streets and that he's not good enough to be around his own son. My, my, my…."  
Winry blanched and gripped the envelope so hard she mangled the tickets. "But—but I—"  
"So….if you think Ed's a pervert and not fit to be a father to an impressionable young boy, just how do you think he'll react to a fat man in curlers who wears more makeup than a Central Street Hostess? Or is the Bearded Lady somehow in a different class than your husband?"  
Winry was shocked by her grandmother's words. How dare she say such ugly things about sweet Mr. Garfiel? Why, he was one of the kindest souls she'd ever met. And when she'd protested as much, Pinako pulled her pipe out from between her lips and held it vertically. "Winry, pay attention. Dick…in…mouth. I've done it. Your mother did it. You've probably done it—"  
"—GRANNY!"  
"-Garfiel's certainly done it—and now you know Ed's done it too." She made an O with her finger and thumb and rapidly thrust the pipe stem in and out. "Now then: dick…in…ass. I've done it—your mother probably did it—"  
"—GRANNY!"  
"—well, we didn't have a lot of birth control and you could do that and still technically be a virgin—and from the look on your face I'm guessing you don't know what I'm talking about. I'll bet you don't get the punch lines about Resembool boys helping the sheep over the hedge, either. But as I was saying—dick…in…ass. Garfiel's probably been penetrated more times than a train tunnel. And as for Ed…well…if he hasn't, he probably will, although I'm betting that boy wouldn't settle for just being a catcher—he'd want to do his share of the pitching. And the old classic, jerking off. I've done it. I've done it so many times and I'll do it 'til I die. Damn good for what ails ya.. I could tell you a thing or two about sneaking up on Hohenheim in the woods before he met Trisha—don't know about Ed but I'm betting Al's pretty damned popular in Xing.. You're mother did it. I'm assuming you have too since you were always so damn loud complaining about Ed not getting it up. You want what you want and you want it now."  
Winry was sobbing hard now, wiping her dripping nose on the back of her hand. "Granny…please…"  
"Jerking off. Ed's doing it and he'd doing it with a man he clearly cares about—and you know what the big difference is:?"  
She leaned in close. "Not…one…goddamn…thing. Sex is sex. Fucking is fucking. I've straddled more cock in my life than you've had hot dinners. And I've gotten drunk in my Pantheress day and found myself in bed with all kinds of congenial people." She blew a cloud of smoke and grinned hugely. "So get that sharp stick out of your self-righteous ass and shut your yap about perverts. And don't think I don't know where you found out about those automail sex toys. I'm sure Paninya could tell a few tales on you if I bought her enough beer."  
If Pinako had taken a pair of welding gloves and jack-slapped her granddaughter full force it wouldn't have been a bigger shock. Winry just…stared at her. "Okay, girl—you gonna shut up about Ed's private life?"  
"Yes ma'am." Very subdued.  
"You gonna apologize for tearing him up like that?" She waved her pipe at the crates. "Better think on it before you answer, because if you can't shut up and just let it go I'm gonna go call your boss and tell him you've decided you can't work for a drag queen because of a nasty case of homophobia-"  
"Does it have to be today?" Winry begged.  
"Yes. Don't let this fester. Go get yourself a cup of coffee, dry your eyes and then go call Central. Get Riza to get him on the phone. Just…don't let this go on. You go after each other—shit all over each other in court and those sweet babies are going to be up for foster care and adoption."

 

"It's me."  
"Yeah."  
"I…" Silence. Winry cleared her throat. "You're…" Silence. "You…."  
Silence.  
"Yeah." Ed drew a deep breath. "Don't hit anybody and the file stays shut. Al knows. He won't say shit. Just….let's get through this thing and the kids'll be okay."  
Pause. "Is…is…he…good to you?"  
Ed smiled. "Yeah. He's…" His voice faded off.  
Winry took a deep breath. She really didn't want to know—but she couldn't stop herself from asking. "It's…Roy Mustang, right?"  
"Listen…I gotta go. I'll talk to you before I get to Resembool. Kiss the kids—and give Granny my love."  
Click! Ed laid his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'm going out. I need some time alone. I'll call if I need a ride home. Tell Roy not to worry." He scrubbed his forehead as if it ached already. "I seriously need to get drunk after all this bullshit and I'd prefer to throw up somewhere without Sebastian chasing me with a monogrammed hand towel."

 

There was a secret door in the wine cellar. There had always been a secret door in the wine cellar. In the old Central bar Roy and Madame Christmas had escaped through the passage moments before Roy flicked the detonator and brought the walls down around his would-be assassins. Tonight it swung open and a lone man in a black tuxedo brushed the cobwebs off his lapels before shouldering his way up the narrow passageway that led into the pantry of Chez Christmas, the best night club in Central.  
Closing time ticked away an hour ago but Chris Mustang was counting the till, checking the bar stock and talking softly to the young man on the barstool who had sobered up after a few cups of coffee and a good talking to. She'd fixed him a steak and was gratified that he'd devoured it. Now as his head cleared he sat in the dim light with her. She'd give him a lift back to the Presidential Palace after she'd finished up for the night.

She stepped back into the back to lock the cash drawer in the safe—and walked straight into her adopted son. She glanced up, nodded and he gave her a hug. Striding quietly across the dance floor, he dropped a few cenz in the multicolored jukebox and punched P38. Moonlight Serenade. Soft, romantic jazz. A song to linger over. A song not meant to be listened to alone.

Edward felt a gloved hand touch his shoulder. "May I have the honor….?"  
"I…I don't dance," he whispered softly .  
"Don't…can't….or won't?" Roy asked him, arms outstretched. "Dancing's like making love, only upright with your clothes on. And sometimes, with the right person, it's even better than sex."  
It was not so hard, and not so embarrassing. "You can lead," Roy teased softly, whispering a few words of guidance. The music helped, slow and dreamlike and in the end they leaned against one another, swaying gently together, not noticing when Madame Christmas dropped a few more coins in the jukebox, smiled and snapped out the lights.

Ed had at least achieved a cease-fire with Winry and he and Al would continue to talk things out over the days and weeks to come—Ling and his retinue would return home by rail and caravan. There was time for proper endings and time for new beginnings. But right now…right now…the only thing that existed in Ed's world was the man whose cheek rested against his—the man whose heart was beating so hard under that silk waistcoat, betraying his outward calm. The man who just held him, moving slowly, not speaking or even thinking beyond this one moment.  
And Edward kissed him in the shadows. It was a kiss they had not shared before—tender and lingering—and they breathed softly together for a long time afterwards. "Please," Ed begged softly, "just don't make me say it. She always made me say it."  
Roy's eyes were wide and dark and he laid his finger gently across his lover's lips. "Never, Edward. If you never say it…I'll still see it in your eyes." He leaned in close. "But I will."  
The three words were breathed so very, very softly, and Ed's arms tightened fiercely around Roy Mustang, so tight it would have been painful if Roy had been aware of anything other than the depths of his lover's eyes.  
"I believe you."  
….TO BE CONTINUED….


	15. DANCING ON THE KNIFE'S EDGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphonse is surprised when Fuhrer Mustang takes him into his confidence—trusting him with a state secret that will change Amestris forever—or destroy the fragile peace he has fought so hard to create. Winry turns to Al for sympathy—and nothing could have prepared her for his answer. Meanwhile, Roy has unlocked a secret door to the Gilded Age of Amestris in preparation of Ed’s birthday…and the guest of honor will also be the dessert.

HALF LIVES Chapter 15: DANCING ON THE KNIFE'S EDGE  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010

 

"Come in, Alphonse."

His Excellency, Fuhrer President Roy Mustang, hastily shoved his reading glasses in the drawer before inviting the young alchemist into his private office, a gesture that never failed to privately amuse Colonel Hawkeye whenever she caught him at it. If his mind had been focused on a less-absorbing task he would have recalled that the younger Elric had seen Roy hours ago wiping away a face-full of his older brother's bodily fluids and Ed's hysterically funny attempts to assure Al that 'this isn't what it looks like" had put Alphonse in very real peril of peeing on himself in a fit of uncontrolled laughter. That itself should have broken the ice between Alphonse and Roy forever—but vanity was simply one of those Mustangian traits to be dealt with if one considered Roy a close friend…and at long last, Alphonse did. It hurt Al to see his brother in pain, however Ed feigned detachment from the landslide that had hit the Elric family and threatened to bury them. But in the midst of the dust and rubble of it all Brother had found someone who genuinely made him happy. As much as the breakdown tugged at Al's heart, seeing Roy and Ed together gave Al hope that at least one person would walk away from that ill-fated union with someone to keep them warm and give them the love they could not find in a marriage that seemed to be assumed as predestined—to everybody but Ed.

Roy was elbow deep in paperwork, and to Al's surprise he did not appear to have a gun pointed at his head to make him study it attentively. There were notes scribbled over most of the pages and the coffee cup rings that stained several pages showed that Roy had been so intent in those pages that he'd hadn't attempted to skive off and get someone like Falman to plough through the fine print so he could skate by with just reading his subordinate's summation. His hair was rumpled, his sleeves were shoved up above his elbows and he was still gnawing pensively on the end of his fountain pen cap, still jammed carelessly between his teeth.  
"Sir, if you'll spit out the top of your pen I'll get you both something more substantial for your tea," Hawkeye commented dryly as she excused herself.  
Roy shrugged, capped his pen and gestured for Alphonse to take a seat. "Let's get down to it," Roy cut to the chase. "Do you trust those three lunatics from Stoltovgrad? "  
Al considered for a moment. Then he beamed. "I do," he answered with a decisive nod. Maxim Petrovsky, Alexi 'Andrei' Andreivitch, and Pyotir Gagarin were as passionate about science as he and Edward has always been about alchemy. Al had already made up his mind to accept their generous invitation to spend the summer living and studying together at Stoltovgrad and fervently hoped Edward would be free to join them, as well as Dr. Chen. "And Chen-san, sir—I've known him for some time now. He and Mei-Chan have taught me so much. I know he's older but he fits right in, and—"  
Roy chuckled and lifted a hand to cut him off. "Alphonse, I've already discussed Kenichi Chen with Ling. Ling says he's one of the brightest and most progressive minds in the Empire. True?"  
"True. And he's a good man—on top of everything else. And the Drachmans like him too."  
Roy nodded as if his mind was firmly made up. "Right. Then, since Ling has no need of the Xerxes to return home, I'm suggesting we invite the Drachmans and Dr. Chen to join us on a little peace mission to Aerugo. Do you think they'd be interested? Ed and I would be traveling by train as dignitaries, but—"  
"Oh, but…couldn't…I mean," Al was stammering.  
"What?"  
Well," Al ventured, "don't you think Ed might want to fly too? I mean," he added hastily, "I know you've asked him to be your envoy—but I bet it would mean so much to him."  
Roy had flown some reconnaissance missions during the war. He wasn't afraid of heights but he wasn't enthralled by them either. And it wasn't exactly risk free. But…  
…but…  
"Ed would love it," Roy conceded. "Can she hold a crew if six safely?"  
Al nodded enthusiastically. "We originally tested with fifteen, so if you'd like to come too…?"  
Roy shuddered. "Not on your life. You talk to the Drachmans. I'll talk to Ling. And you can have the pleasure of inviting your brother along for the ride."

It was not until after they had finished their coffee and sandwiches that Roy shoved a pile of blueprints across the table—along with a draft of a thirty page proposal. "Your brother hasn't seen this yet. I'm going to trust your discretion, Alphonse. Now," he rose, tugging down his sleeves and buttoning the cuffs, "I want you to spend this evening privately going over this material. Make notes as needed. And this is not for the eyes of your 'comrades' or even the Emperor. You are the one who needs to see this information."  
Al looked surprised and a little alarmed. "Me? But—"  
"You. What becomes of this-" he gestured to the piles of notes and blueprints, "will depend largely on your honest opinion. I mean it, Al." He leaned in close, one hand on the younger man's shoulder. "If it's rubbish, tell me. Don't spare my feelings. If it's utter crap or if it seems flawed but viable at least in part—I want to hear it. We," his voice dropped down very low, " are dancing on the knife's edge in Amestris. I cannot afford even one false step, not now. And I trust you to tell me the truth."  
"Roy," Al asked after a long silence, "why me? Why not Brother?"  
Roy adjusted the angle of his cap and nodded. "You'll see. Goodnight."  
Al glanced up, worried. "Wait! You know Brother went out to tie one on—"  
"—and my Aunt Chris is sobering him up as we speak. She was going to bring him home, but—" he offered a wicked smile, "—I thought we might spend a bit of…quality time. Perhaps go dancing…"  
"Ed?" Al looked horrified. "Ed wouldn't dance if you held a gun to his head! He—"  
"Excuse me, Sir." Riza Hawkeye knocked once before entering. "Alphonse, there's a phone call for you."  
Al grinned. "Probably Maxim. He wanted us to play cards tonight. Tell him I'm –"  
"It's Winry."  
Alphonse sighed heavily. "For Brother?"  
"For you."  
For several long and very tense seconds, nobody moved a muscle. At last, Roy softly cleared his throat. "Take it in here. I'm going to Edward." The eyes that met Al's were expressionless but the temperature of the room had just dropped several degrees. Roy nodded once and marched smartly out the door, closing it just a little to firmly behind him.  
###  
Three words. Spoken low, so quietly he could barely hear them himself. But those slightly mis-matched arms, one still not quite so strong or sleekly muscled as the other, tightened around him as a voice hoarse with raw emotion answered back, I believe you.  
That was all that needed to be said.  
Edward Elric was an empty house on the day Roy first met him, dragging the maimed child from his wheelchair, shouting What have you done? What did you do? The eyes flicked away from his furious gaze, the doors slamming shut, windows shuttered, and whatever spark of animation remained in the boy had retreated, huddled in the basement of his own mind, waiting for the tall, angry stranger in the blue uniform to strike him down—to crush him for his sins…perhaps a small part of him welcomed that punishment. Surely it was more than he deserved.  
Roy had seen hatred in those eyes—hating him for forcing Ed to face the horror of Nina Tucker's death. Hating Roy for incinerating what Ed had believed was Maria Ross. Those eyes had passed a harsh judgment on Roy's soul the day he tried to kill Envy.  
But he had also seen comradeship and approval…and as the years had passed there was playful antagonism, respect and friendship. And, most recently, he watched the wary, wounded man open up to him, body and spirit, in a way that thrilled him as much as the way Ed leaned into his touch so willingly. We had to grow up, had to come a long, long way together to get to this moment. I didn't expect this. I didn't even know I wanted this…and now this infuriating man has crossed the lines that Maes didn't dare—  
I told him I loved him and he believes me.  
Then Roy whispered five more words that conquered Edward Elric forever:  
"Tall looks good on you."  
###  
"Here." A glass of neat brandy was pressed into Alphonse's shaking hand. "You look like you need it." The cognac eyes were steady but there was a hint of something that sounded like empathy in her quite tone.  
He threw it back, straight-armed. She was not surprised. He did not ask for another. "Alphonse, if you need to talk…it will go no further."  
He hesitated. Then he shook his head. "I…I appreciate it, Colonel. I'll be fine. I'll just…go read this stuff Roy gave me." She nodded and retreated silently, leaving the bottle behind in case he needed.  
Which he did—but he chose to stay sober. Getting drunk would have made those worms of jealousy start crawling around in the back of his mind—the What Ifs and If Onlys that made him turn his face into the wind and walk farther and farther away from Resembool every turn of the seasons.  
What was it he had read in some ancient Ishballan text? It is an abomination to cast covetous eyes upon the wife of your brother or your mother or your uncle or your close friend. Do not shame your house with your lusts and desires.   
She cried. He knew she would. What was Ed thinking—what was wrong with her—why would he choose to go to a man's bed when she—  
Winry, please—don't do this—  
-she still wanted him back-was she not enough of a woman? Was she ugly? Wasn't she the mother of his children—okay, yes maybe he hadn't been consulted about her getting pregnant, but still-  
I don't want to get in the middle—  
-was he like that all along and he just was afraid to tell her? Had Al noticed anything that indicated that Edward was—  
-of this—please, Winry…please. This is killing me—  
-it was Roy Mustang, wasn't it? Had he been chasing after Ed since Ed was a child? Was that it? Did he take advantage of Edward being angry about their little argument-  
And that was when Alphonse lost his temper. "Why did you slap my brother across the face with the welding gloves that day he took me to the train station?"  
It took her a moment to find the words. She failed. "You—you-?"  
"I was in the doorway. You broke my heart that day, Winry."  
Her next words sounded very strange, as if she was straining them through a sieve of thought, woven from What Ifs and Should I's and If Only's. "It's…not like you were in love with me, Al—"  
"—and how the HELL would you know? You were chasing my brother so hard—it was like I never existed."  
There was a nervous chuckle. "Al—you're—"  
"—TEN MONTHS younger. Yeah. I know. And when he got all mature and broad shouldered, I was a goddamned hunk of metal."  
"ALPHONSE!"  
His eyes began to sting and he scrubbed at them fiercely. "Well…I'm not a hunk of tin anymore. I never was. And I love you and I love Brother and I'm not getting in the middle of this mess—and I'm so angry at the two of you for breaking up my home…my only home! Everything's changed—and I've lost my family and my home all over again…and…and…don't ask me to get in the middle of it. It's hurting me…it's hurting me. I'll…talk later. I need some time to think. Good night."  
Click.  
He splashed his face. Then he folded up his heart neatly and stowed it away as he had since the last time—the only time—she looked in his eyes with love, on the day they came home from the Gateway. At least he thought it was love at the time. He had wanted it to be love, had dreamed of that moment. She would run down the dirt road, arms outstretched and Alphonse would gather her close and tell her how he'd missed her—and he'd never, ever let her go.  
He sighed. He put the cap firmly on the bottle and poured himself hot tea from the lovely silver and blue enamel samovar the Tsarina had presented to Roy. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he settled down behind the Fuhrer's desk and began to read.  
Presently, his eyes grew very wide indeed—and Winry was the last thing on his mind for the remainder of the evening…  
###  
Go behind the bar, Roy had whispered. There's a little drawer with a crystal knob on it. Reach inside and pull out one of the keys.  
It was ornate brass with an enameled silver fob on it bearing the number 5.  
The lovers passed through the double doors at the rear behind the bandstand. It was like stepping into another world, a world just slightly older than they were.  
Gilded Age. That's what the history books called it. It breathed its last gasps just before the war with Ishbal began.  
It never flourished in Resembool, not for long. Not when the war pounded down their doorsteps and the lovely city by the Rain River was burned to the ground for sin of providing wool for soldier's uniforms. The town was a smoking ruin, its precious flocks shot for sport, their bodies carried off over the saddles of the invaders to feed the hungry soldiers—never mind the hungry children whose parents had lost their livelihood. It was raids like the burning of Resembool that finally drove Urey and Sara Rockbell to leave their quiet country practice to serve as doctors at the Ishballan front.  
But elsewhere in Amestris there was a Gilded Age—of lace curtains and stained glass—of brass and polished silver. Where ornate design was born of the artisan's hand, not the work of an alchemist. Beauty for the sake of beauty—to feed the soul and please the eyes.  
The endless wars brought the Gilded Age to a close nearly everywhere…but there were yet still a few tiny pockets of opulent luxury where gold flickered in the light of beeswax candles and wine glinted in cut crystal. In the old restored house that held Chez Christmas, seven of these Gilded Age 'courting parlors' still existed. This had once been a house of pleasure, and while the jazz wailed and the dancers sweated in the ballroom-cum-nightspot, couples with sufficient money and influence might discreetly book one of the seven parlors for an evening of privacy and pleasure.  
"Go on," Roy whispered. "Open the door."  
With a flick of his fingers Roy lit the candelabra on the table and the mantelpiece..  
Soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Ed stared at the centerpiece of the entire parlor: a chaise longue of dark wine velvet, as wide as a single bed with one end curled up gracefully as if designed to support a person's…  
Ed's face flushed hotly in the dark. If nothing else, his recent sexual education at Roy's hands had made his imagination more vivid than it had ever been previously. Before he would have thought, "hey, half that couch is missing!" and would have tried to repair it with alchemy. Instead, all sorts of images of naked limbs and rigid cocks and shivering delights began to tumble together in his imagination.  
Roy had slipped out, slipped back and locked the door behind him. "Aunt Chris told Al we're together. This place is well defended. And the staff knows I wanted to share something special with you and we were not to be disturbed."  
Share? "Share what?"  
Roy placed a small covered tray beside the couch. "You've had your dinner," he teased softly as he guided Edward to the lush upholstery of the chaise. "I thought we'd have a little dessert."  
The linen cover was twitched aside. There was a chilled silver bowl of chocolate mouse. There was also a small bone china crock and a sliver spoon.  
The front of the crock bore a single word in gilded letters; "BUTTER"  
"So…what's on the menu?" Ed wanted to know.  
Roy offered him a slow, hot grin.  
"You."  
….TO BE CONTINUED…


	16. JUST DESSERTS AND BIRTHDAY PRESENTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy and Edward celebrate Ed’s birthday in a turn of the century bawdy house, complete with velvet couches, antique plumbing….and peep holes in the not-very-sound-proof doors. Standing guard, Jean Havoc and Riza Hawkeye catch their Fuhrer with his pants down…and find that Roy and Edward aren’t the only ones that could be caught in a compromising position…

HALF LIVES Chapter 16: JUST DESSERTS AND BIRTHDAY PRESENTS  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010  
"I thought we'd have a little dessert."  
The linen cover was twitched aside. There was a chilled silver bowl of chocolate mousse. There was also a small bone china crock and a sliver spoon.  
The front of the crock bore a single word in gilded letters; "BUTTER"  
"So…what's on the menu?" Ed wanted to know.  
Roy offered him a slow, hot grin.   
"You." Somewhere a china clock sweetly chimed twelve strokes in the winter darkness. "Happy Birthday!"  
Then Roy blew out the candles and began to feast…  
Given the preference, Ed would have asked for something with fresh strawberries. On the other hand, chocolate rum mousse licked off Roy's fingers while lying back on an antique velvet chaise longue more than made up for the substitution. "You mind lighting those candles again? You're getting it all over my chin, asshole."  
SNAP! Every candle in the room blazed to life and Roy leaned in to playfully lap up any chocolaty smears on Ed's face. "Satisfied?"  
"Yeah. Aren't you going to have any? It's fuckin' amazing."  
Roy withdrew his fingers from the silver bowl and smiled. "Mmmm….I was giving that some serious thought. But I'm a bit old for finger feeding. Let me suggest something better, " His expression became mischievous. "Get naked."  
Okay. So. The Chief and Ed were making out in Room Five. Ho hum.  
Havoc didn't particularly want to stand guard in the hall, but he and Hawkeye were sharing bodyguard shifts tonight, and if Chief was determined to sneak off and have a little rendezvous with the formerly-Short-Shit-Alchemist, who were they to tell him to get his ass back in the Palace before some anti-Drachman knee-jerk jackass decided to plug him with a slug? At the Presidential Palace nine-tenths of the staff had some combat training. Hell, Sebastian was probably the most dangerous motherfucker Havoc knew of. Son of a bitch was Black Ops security, just like that tight assed Claude. Anybody even farted in the wrong direction and Sebastian could flick a sleeve dagger faster than Hughes in his best day. And that pocket watch chain could snap around a victim's neck like a garrote with the flick of a wrist. There had been no fewer than five assassination attempts on Roy Mustang since he ascended to power. Hawkeye nailed two. Havoc took one out—and Sebastian had pinned three others through the heart without breaking sweat. The night Dimitri and Her Nibs from the North met with Roy, Sebastian flicked a steak knife off the table and pinned a fly to the wall—and the Drachman Tsar nearly shit himself. Negotiations went a damn sight smoother after that.  
So—Ed. Chief. Room Five. There was a peephole and he could see clearly through the candlelight that they were being all disgusting and lovey-dovey and Ed was sucking chocolate somethingorother off the Chief's fingers. Havoc shrugged and lipped his unlit cigarette, wishing he could at least play solitaire or read some smut.  
Then things got really, really quiet.  
Too quiet.  
Bored but alert, Havoc was about to glance quickly just to make sure they hadn't left by some inner door.  
Then he heard the President of Amestris tell his lover, "Remember, Ed—I can only breathe on the out stroke."  
Huh?  
He risked a peek.  
He wished he hadn't.  
His Excellency, the Fuhrer President of Amestris, leader of the free world…was lying on his back, naked, with his head hanging off the raised curved end of what Havoc's mom would have called a 'fainting couch'. His neck was straight and properly aligned. He smiled seductively and gestured to a very naked, very erect former Fullmetal to approach the couch and place his hands on the cushions while Mustang reached out and guided Ed's hips forward…closer…closer still. His lips parted and by the flickering light Havoc was pretty damned sure he could see Roy's tonsils.  
"Now," Roy commanded, kissing the oozing slit of the younger man's chocolate covered cock. "Fuck me."  
And he did.  
Havoc bit his cigarette filter in half and nearly swallowed it. Ed was…was…oh my fucking god… Ed's tight little buttocks—Havoc was starting to sweat now—clenched and rocked forward and there was a low, sobbing wail. He's…damn…he's got his dick so far down the Chief's gullet he's gonna beat the man's brains out with his balls! And the Chief was hard as a brick, cock flailing, dripping jizz all over and thrusting at the ceiling with his hips while his hands crawled all over Ed's ass, working a finger in which made Ed yell even louder. Ed was digging his fingers into that sofa, and between those wide-spread thighs he could see the upper half of Roy's head—at least what wasn't obscured by a swinging nut sack.  
"'GODDAMN…yeahhhhh…ohhh…ohh…suck me HARD, you bastard…take it…yeahhhooohhhh….I'm gonna….shiiiiiiiiiiitttttt…"  
The front of Havoc's uniform was tented out so far he thought his dick was going to chew its way out through the zipper. He was mortified. Two guys. Guys. Fucking. And he was about to come in his pants. Soon as Hawkeye got there, he vowed, he'd run to the head and either think thoughts about kittens and spring flowers and…and…girls with huge nipples…or he'd be forced to rub one off and then get righteously drunk over the horror of it all. Getting a boner over seeing the Chief throating Edward Elric.  
Hell, no woman had ever done that for Havoc.  
He risked another look. Ed had collapsed to the carpet, panting hard and shivering. Roy was slowly lifting his head so as to avoid the blood rushing back too quickly. He was smiling. His lips were bruised and his face was very, very wet.  
Wet with…Havoc's cock twitched. He closed his eyes and tried to think about mountainous melons, women with boobs that were rock hard and deep cherry nipples—his favorite—anything, please God-anything but Roy Mustang with jizz on his face, a hard cock in his fist and Ed on his hands and knees crawling back to the couch for more.  
"Ahem-hemm-hmmm"  
Hawkeye. Ohhh shit.. Thankyougod, thankyou thankyou…  
"Major? Are you all right?" And she was staring straight down at what was pointing straight up but thankfully still in his pants.  
"Fine-thanks-gotta-make-a-head-call—" He nearly tripped over the pattern of the hall rug in his mad rush to tiptoe to the bathroom on the other side of the building so the flush would not be overheard and alert Ed that Roy was being followed by his bodyguards, even in the most…unguarded…of moments.  
###  
The last of the chocolate mousse was long gone and the single crystal flute of champagne tipped back, it's warm bubbly dryness passed from mouth to mouth. "Didn't know you were such a perverted old man," Ed ribbed him, grinning with satisfaction.  
"Well, I didn't hear any objections, just a lot of moaning, so I saw no reason to quit. Unless," he looked wicked now, "you wanted to just pull your cock out of my esophagus, zip up and go play gin rummy with your little brother on your birthday, Hmmmmm?"  
"Well-" Ed flushed the color of the chaise. "It was—"  
"Yes, it was," Roy finished, grinning smugly, comfortable and confident in his own skin. Ed had never seen him look so playful, so relaxed and wanton—he'd never seen anybody looking like this before, not even in the odd dirty magazine he might have accidentally flipped through in his teens. He grinned back and ran his hand admiringly along Roy's inner thigh before letting his fingers brush and tease the fine black curls. Impulsively, he drew his hand to his face and inhaled. "Why do you smell so good?" Ed demanded. "You smell good all over. I can smell you on my skin in the morning and it gets me so hard."  
Edward's artless candor pleased Roy immensely. "Same reason I like to sleep with my face in the back of your neck—it's the scent of your hair and skin. Chemical attraction. Pheromones. Wonderful thing, chemistry."  
"Winry never…" Ed shook his head. Truth be told, Winry smelled like grease, oil, sweat and metal. Automail smells, like Ed had smelled himself for years. He still carried a whiff of steel and machine oil but not as strongly as when nearly half his upper body was metal and carbon. " I-I mean..it just wasn't…she didn't affect me like this. And if anybody told me I ever would react this way to a guy," he sighed, "I'd have told 'em they were out of their fuckin' minds."  
"Doesn't' always happen between two people." Roy pulled Ed down onto the tufted velvet, curling his body around his lover. "We're lucky."  
"Yeah." Ed squeezed Roy's cock gently. "We are."  
Roy leaned up on one elbow. "Speaking of lucky—I'm not sure about you country boys, but when kids grow up in the city, and their parents ask them what they want for Solstice or their birthday, they almost always say the same thing."  
"What's that?"  
Roy leaned over Ed's shoulder and reached for the small porcelain crock. "A pony."  
Ed shrugged. "Ponies means shoveling horseshit. I'd have asked for a trip to the bookstore—and maybe a new fishing pole."  
Roy rolled his eyes. "Such a realist," he jibed. "In all seriousness, city kids would beg for a pony ride on their birthdays. Aunt Chris never let me down and took me to the funfair every year and paid to let me ride for a whole hour. Cost a fortune in tickets but she knew how much it meant to me." He smiled at the memory, then held up the crock so the golden letters B-U-T-T-E-R flashed in the candlelight. "Since you're obviously not interested in pony rides…why not ride a Mustang instead?" He opened the crock, dipped his finger inside and then mischievously licked off a finger-full of creamy goodness. "Remember page 211?"  
Ed jerked upright and stared down at his lover. "Wha…whaaat?"  
"You book-marked it." Roy's buttery finger ticked off an invisible checkmark. "You left notes…"  
"-yeah, but—"  
"I asked you to mark things that you thought might be fun, didn't I?"  
"—well…yeah—but—"  
"—and this chaise is designed to the exacting speculations for that particular act of intimate congress…right?"  
Ed was spluttering, flushed and panicked. "But—"  
"—and you also marked page 63. Or at least," Roy purred wickedly, "that page seemed a bit…sticky. I'm assuming you went back and read it when you were alone, probably with some of that hospital hand lotion—or was it shampoo? You certainly enjoyed it when I did it last time. So," he caught Ed by the elbow and pulled him down beside him, " Let us begin with page 63, paragraph seven…and then let's see if you're in the mood to saddle up and go for a ride…"  
Rebecca used to joke with Riza that continuing to work for Roy Mustang after hearing that the two had mutually decided not to have an intimate relationship, "must be like the poor diabetic kid stuck in the candy store. You look…you see the most delicious things…mmmm…and that smell drives you out of your mind…and you know you can buy what you want…but you are not getting One. Damn. Taste. Doesn't it make you crazy, girl?"  
Yes. It did. Because, contrary to popular belief, Riza Hawkeye was human. She was the Perfect Soldier, and could effortlessly shoot the short hairs off a fleeing squirrel, but she was a woman and she was not immune to regret.  
Her little talk with Winry on the riverbank had been straight from her heart. At the same time, she acknowledged that while she couldn't have Roy…if he crept into her thoughts as she lay alone in the dark, hand between her thighs, she could still enjoy the fantasy of wanting.  
Roy was happier than he'd been since—well, since she'd known him as a young teenager, the much abused and harassed prize pupil of Bert hold Hawkeye. The old man loved Roy and as with all things he loved he often neglected and maligned him. Roy had been so serious, so intense, so dedicated. And he had loved Maes Hughes with such depth and intensity that he had gone quite out of his mind, however briefly, when his one chance to destroy Maes' killer was snatched away from him.  
Caring for Edward in the hospital had been surprising. Learning of their relationship had pleased her in an odd way. If she couldn't have him, at least Edward was someone she respected and admired for all his prickliness and his sharp tongue. Roy kept his feelings well concealed, as did Edward. Nonetheless, Roy's recent happiness was evident to anyone who had observed the Fuhrer for years.  
And nobody had observed Roy Mustang more closely than Riza Hawkeye.  
But as she took her place at Havoc's post, she noted her subordinate's state of evident arousal and while her face was impassive as ever she inwardly flinched at what might be going on on the other side of that parlor door…  
"Wha…what are you going to do with that butterawwwwwwFUUUUUCCCKKK!"  
He was on his knees, straddling Roy's chest, and the tickle of warm breath, followed by the soft stab of a warm tongue told Ed exactly what Roy had had in mind. He had dipped out a generous spoonful of butter, placed it on his tongue and now he was…ohhhgodddd! "You…you're fuckin' killing me," he panted, yet he pushed back against those slick fingers that scissored and teased, willing that tongue to thrust deeper, faster. Another mouthful of butter and Roy obliged him, humming and purring with delight as Ed shuddered and squirmed while protesting loudly that it was too much—way too much to bear.  
Then Roy lifted his knees, feet firmly planted on the cushion for support. "Page 211…are you ready?"  
Ed wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "This is going to kill me," he growled, but he turned around and rose up on his knees, glaring down at his lover. "Should have never let you see my notes."  
Roy offered him a wolfish grin. "Never hint what you'd like as a present—because someone who loves you is likely to give it to you."  
Ed's expression softened, becoming oddly tender. "You really meant it."  
A strong, scarred hand rested firmly over Edward's heart. "And I won't take it back," Roy answered softly. "Do you believe me?"  
Edward slowly leaned down, his mouth gently brushing against Roy's . "Let's ride," he murmured. "Show me what to do."  
Roy handed him the butter. Sitting back on his heels, Ed dipped his finger in. "This isn't going back in the ice box is it? I'd hate like hell for some customer to dip lobster in this thing and eat one of my pubes by accident."  
"You have the soul of a poet, Edward," Roy taunted. "Now remember what you've read."  
"Don't be so impatient, asshole," Ed grumbled but he scooped up a double fingerful of butter and spread it carefully over the head of Roy's cock.  
It melted quickly, the swollen flesh so hot, and Ed couldn't tear his eyes away from it. He dabbed a tiny bit into the cleft and then licked it up, the sweetness of the butter blended with the saltiness of Roy's own essence. "Hmmmmmm…' Slowly he drew down the velvety hood, revealing the flushed, glistening tip, so wet for him already. Another coating of the cool butter stroked over the bare glans melted almost instantly. "Shit," Ed whispered reverently. "Oh…okay…how do I…"  
"I'll help." Roy guided. Ed glided slowly back…and Roy lifted his hips slightly, pressing his well-lubed tip against his lover. "Whenever you're ready," he whispered urgently.  
"Aaahhowwwwwwwww…" He was gritting his teeth, working the thickness in his tightness, pausing to let the frantic clenching slow to a gentle throb, proof that his body was now ready to accept what was to come. With Roy's help, he struggled to his knees, thighs wide apart, leaning slightly against Roy's upraised thighs for support.  
"Ready?"  
Ed was shivering with painpleasureneedhunger and ohgodhe's filling me up…it's so…I can't take…AAAAHHHHHH! He had taken his lover to the hilt and sat there on Roy's hips, cock dripping, gasping for breath, motionless, head flung back. And he was breathtaking.  
After an eternity, he raised his head and told his lover, "I can feel your heartbeat."  
And he began to ride.  
###  
And on the other side of the door, the eye glued to the peep hole grew wide.  
Years ago she'd seen a woman in the streets in the South performing the beledi, seductive form of desert tribal dance that left men breathless and women blushing from the abandoned sensuality of it—right up until the MPs dragged her off for disturbing the peace. Perhaps Edward had seen such writhing in his travels-she didn't know but what she beheld through the spy hole was simply the most erotic dance she'd ever beheld or even heard of.  
Crouching on velvet, naked, sweating, clad only in his long wet hair, Edward was dancing for his man, hips churning, belly rolling. Hands sliding sensuously over his own scarred chest, down his belly, offering his swollen cock to his lover, stroking it shamelessly, licking the pearly juices from his fingers, then pressing them into Roy's mouth. He was hissing out curses, endearments, grinding down hard, rising up until just the tip lingered inside and then squeezing…making Roy howl and swear and plunge up into that beautiful maimed body….slamming back down…and then arching all the way back between Roy's spread thighs until his head touched the velvet beneath them, and with a choked cry an arc of whiteness burst from him, raining down on his lover's chest.  
Roy jackknifed into a sitting position and locked his arms around Edward's hips, rocking up furiously into the body that clenched him mercilessly. Riza stared, sweat drenched, as Roy's back arched, his body went rigid and he sobbed out Edward's name.  
###  
After wanting Roy for the better part of a lifetime, she'd finally seen what she'd fantasized over for so long. His body. His cock, thickly swollen and beautifully veined, those long supple thighs. She'd seen that cock plunging into Ed the way she'd once—no, still- wished he would plunge into her. That long whipping mane of gold could have been her own.  
For a moment, just a moment, she hated Edward Elric with every breath in her sweating, trembling body. Only the fiercest of self control kept her hand away from her sidearm.  
Instead, it slipped under her waistband.  
Then she heard Havoc's whisper in the dark.  
"Let me…"  
And she did.  
###  
"You said there was a washroom," Ed called over his shoulder. It was nearly 4am and the two had decided it was time to clean up a bit, get dressed and sneak back to the Palace. A small door fronted with frosted glass led to what Ed imagined would be a full bath with at least a shower. If people had been fucking all night in these rooms—and he shuddered to think how Aunt Chris would get the butter and chocolate mousse and semen and sweat out of that much abused chaise—they'd want to tidy up. Only there was nothing tidy-worthy. Just a rack of towels, a sink…and the damndest looking toilet he'd ever seen.  
"That's a bidet, Edward," Roy called from the other room where he was gathering up their clothes.  
"A what?"  
"Bidet. Every good whorehouse has one in every room."  
Edward was mystified. "So…" he ventured, "you take a dump…and what?"  
"It's not a toilet!" Roy sounded horrified at the very suggestion. "It's for washing yourself after sex. There's soap—look for it, and towels. You go ahead. I'll straighten up—"  
"—and throw out the rest of the butter. No pubes on lobster tails," Ed warned.  
There was a sigh of frustration. "Really, Ed—you can be so provincial sometimes…"  
Ed contemplated the porcelain contraption with suspicion. It had a drain, yes, two water knobs and a soforth. He bent down for closer inspection to see which was hot and which was cold and-  
"AAAAAAKKKKKKKKCCCKKK!"  
Roy's head popped around the doorway. There was a positive geyser of icy water spraying nearly three feet in the air—and Ed had caught the blast clear in the face.  
He pushed the dripping strands of his drenched hair out of his eyes and glared daggers at his lover.  
"Laugh and I'll fuckin' kill you."  
….TO BE CONTINUED


	17. ED FLIES FAST, BAD NEWS FLIES FASTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphonse celebrates Eds birthday by teaching him how to pilot the airship Xerxes over Central. Ed is having the time of his life, picnicking in the sky with Al, Ling and their new friends from Drachma—but as soon as he finds out about Winry’s interview on Radio Central his world will come crashing down…while his young son Maes proves to the listeners that the Elric potty mouth IS genetic after all

Half Lives, Chapter 17: Ed Flies Fast, Bad News Flies Faster  
By the Binary Alchemist 2010

 

It took the whole damn night for Ed to finally admit it to himself.  
He loved Roy Mustang.  
It was as simple as that.

It wasn't the sex—which was…damn. Roy could make him come so hard he was afraid his brains would squirt right out of his ears. Roy could tie his body into a pretzel and make him speak in tongues and make him bust out laughing at the same time. His face burned at the memory of how they had defaced the velvet chaise longue in Madame Christmas' private parlor—in fact he seriously doubted he could look at a stick of butter for the remainder of his life without blushing over the memory of where that particular dairy product had been—and what Roy had done once it had been applied there.  
Sex was incendiary between them at times—but if had just been the fucking he'd have enjoyed the hell out of it but that wouldn't have been enough to make his heart turn over that funny way when a strong, possessive arm slipped around his chest to pull him closer even while Roy was deeply asleep.  
I'll be here. I won't leave you. That meant more, in the end, even more than I love you.  
And that made all the difference.

Ed stretched and yawned, grinning at the memory of that stubbly kiss before Roy crawled reluctantly out of bed. Roy wanted to linger but Sebastian was quietly hemm-hemming from outside their bedroom door, waiting to bring Roy coffee, briefings and a quiet suggestion that he might want to hitch his collar a fraction higher or else resort to cosmetics to conceal the livid love bites Ed had planted on his elegant throat. Ed's own body was peppered with similar marks of possession, including a few on his inner thighs that stung a bit. Twenty two of them, to be precise—one for each year and 'and one to grow on'. Ed had teased that when Roy turned thirty-six this fall Ed intended to feast on Roy's neck and he'd have to wear turtlenecks like Havoc for a week—  
Ker-BLAM!  
"GETTHEHELLOUTOFTHATBED,GODDAMNIT!"  
Oh, crap. He'd forgotten about Dr. Knox.  
He felt fine and fit and headache-free after Dr. Chen had healed his head injury with alkahestry—but Knox wasn't buying it. "Snake-oil and buttwipe, the lot of it," he growled. "Can't tell me a subdural hematoma and a skull fracture is going to knit up in an instant. I want radiographs, goddamn it. And don't even think I'm going to sign off on this chart unless I see proof that you have no sign of trauma."  
Ed pulled the covers over his head and burrowed into Roy's pillow. "Fuck off," he mumbled. "I'm fine."  
There was a low growl. "You're fine when I say you're fine. Now, getouttathat bed!"  
"Ah—hem—hemmmm"  
There was a soft knock at the door that cut Knox off mid-tirade. "Master Edward? If you're up, Master Alphonse is waiting to take you to breakfast—along with His Celestial Grace Emperor Ling, Dr. Chen and the young men from Drachma." Sebastian offered a polite bow to Dr. Knox, accompanied by a smile that just overstepped the bounds of insolence. "It would not do to keep the Emperor of Xing waiting, sir."  
At the word breakfast Edward felt an answering protest from his empty stomach. He hadn't realized how ravenous he'd been—hardly surprising when one considered the amount of energy he had burned up with all the erotic gymnastics of the night before. He vaulted over the pillows and dashed for the shower, but Sebastian intercepted him with a cautioning gesture. "They will be meeting you out of doors, sir. If you shower you will not only keep His Grace waiting but you would put yourself at risk of catching cold. Your brother has sent you some warm clothing—" he gestured to Claude who entered, laid a parcel on the bed and slipped out with a silent bow, "—and I might suggest that the young master go ahead and dress and meet them on the front steps. I will join you shortly with the breakfast provisions. If you will excuse us, Doctor?"  
Knox's face folded in disapproval, and with a grunt of displeasure he stalked out, slamming the door behind him.  
Ed tore open the parcel and dug out a leather helmet with brass goggles, snuggly lined with fleece. He stared at it a moment before it sunk in why he might need to wear it—and why he had to be careful not to risk catching cold. With a whoop of pure glee he shot past Sebastian, shouting for Alphonse to wait, that he was coming, and not to leave without him…  
"MASTER EDWARD!"  
Ed paused halfway down the stairs and turned back in annoyance. "What, damn it?"  
Sebastian's lips twitched slightly. "Do you feel a bit…drafty, sir?"  
In his wild excitement, Ed had forgotten the helmet.  
He had also forgotten his clothing.

 

"Ohhh, shut up, willya?"  
His Celestial Grace Ling Yao was pointing and howling disgracefully in Edward's general direction. Seeing Ed bolting down the stairs, two at a time and buck naked, was something he would never let Ed hear the end of it if they both lived to be a hundred.  
Alphonse couldn't resist a gentle dig at his brother. "Well, Ling, in Amestris children refer to being naked as being in your 'birthday suit'—and it is Ed's birthday after all."  
Gold eyes shot daggers at the younger Elric sibling. "Ling…did I ever tell ya about the time Al had a little problem with bed-wetting and tried to hide the evidence?"  
His grin was wonderfully malicious when Al ducked his head and looked embarrassed. "And the time we went to the movies and Al got so scared-"  
"—Ed!"  
"—he crapped his pants, right there in the auditorium-"  
"—ED!"  
"Shall I go on? Or," Ed jabbed his brother playfully in the ribs, "will you jokers just cut the shit and get me to the Xerxes already?"  
The flight coat had been cut to fit Alphonse—a bit loose in the shoulders and chest but the length was enough to shield him from the frigid breezes that would buffet them when the airship was in motion. Ed was so excited he couldn't have cared less if his nose froze and snapped off—he was going to fly! This was so far beyond anything he could have imagined that he could scarcely contain himself. He dashed impulsively ahead of the crowd, a laughing Alphonse right at his heels.  
"Hold it-Smile, boys!"  
CLICK-FLASH!  
A microphone was thrust into Al's face. "Mister Elric—a word for Radio Capital?" A dozen or more reporters crowded in close as flashbulbs went off, and from down the street people began running eagerly to the roped off area where the Xerxes was moored.  
Wary, Ed drew back and tried to step away from this crush of strangers all trying to get close to his little brother. He had openly courted public adulation in his younger years when he tried to lure out homunculi by drawing attention to himself as "the Alchemist of the People". The Promised Day and its horrors purged him of any vestiges of desire for the spotlight. He had fled to Resembool in hopes of finding peace and instead watched his life grow stagnant and dissatisfying. Right now, the last thing he wanted was anybody asking questions about his mysterious 'retirement' from alchemy.  
Al, well….it was impressive, in a curious sort of way, how well he handled them. A boyish grin, a toss of his golden head and a self deprecating chuckle, accompanied by a gently dismissive gesture. No—please, it was no big deal, no news story. It wasn't a national event but a family one. "It's Brother's birthday and I wanted to teach him to pilot the airship—we're going aloft with a few friends. The Palace staff has made a nice hot breakfast to take with us," ("How thrilling? And what do aeronauts eat for breakfast, Mr, Elric? What's your favorite brand of coffee and sausage?") "-and—OH! Look! Gentlemen, His Celestial Grace has arrived to join us!" Al bowed low, gestured discreetly for Ed to do the same, and Ling responded with a benevolent smile and a gesture that they might rise.  
"EMPEROR LING!" The hounds of the press swarmed around him, yapping at his heels and panting with excitement. First The Aeronaut—now the Emperor! What a cover story!  
"Quick, jump in," Al urged softly, and Ed vaulted over the side, followed quickly by Dr. Chen, Maxim, Alexi and Pyotir, who handed up the hampers with their heated tiles to keep breakfast sizzling until they were ready to dine aloft.  
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Sebastian gently interrupted. "Your Grace, may I offer you my assistance in boarding the Xerxes?" The tall servant knelt in the half-melted slush, one knee raised as a foot rest, one arm offered as a hand hold."  
As was custom, Ling did not acknowledged him but stepped lightly up, whispering, "thanks!" so low that only Sebastian could hear him.  
"Clear for take-off!" Alphonse called out loudly as Dr. Chen clanged the warning bell. "Please step back from the gondola, gentlemen!" He turned to his brother. "Turn the center burner clockwise about , then pitch the mooring lines over the side," he instructed.  
Ed nodded. "Eeet is mooch like a sailing ship," Pyotir observed.  
"Da," Alphonse agreed. "I've done some sailing and piloting is piloting, when you get right down to it. Now, Ed," he turned to his brother, "due to the cold temperatures we won't be going too high—although we have used alchemy to alter the flashpoint of the envelope's fabric. The lift principle is a ratio of air temperature and air mass and density to the weight we need to get off the ground. We fly higher and faster and more efficiently in hot, sunny weather than in the winter—which is also where alchemy comes in." Al clapped his hands and blue sparks shimmered inside the massive silk envelope. "I'm modifying the mixture of gases inside the envelope for better lift—but in the summer we don't need that."  
Ed nodded, listening intently. "Okay, got it. And if all you need is hot air, just shove Ling's head under the silk and she'll soar like a son-of-a-bitch," he added. "Now what?"  
"Check your drop lines—those will allow the ground crew to pull us down and position us if we need assistance."  
Dr. Chen showed him where to look. "Okay, they're good."  
"Put on your gloves and helmet—the heat generated from the burners overhead can scorch your head and the wind will pick up so get your goggles on. Now," he gestured, "pull down slow and steady on the valve chain…that's it…and…here we go!"  
There was a loud roar as the burners fired and the Xerxes lifted smoothly above the Palace lawn as the passengers waved to the cheering throng below, the Radio Capital reporter eagerly giving a play-by-play of the action. Once the airship had headed westward towards the river, the Radio Capital crew phoned the studio. "We got the scoop," they told their news director excitedly. "Brothers United Aloft—Edward Elric's Balloon Birthday Bash!"  
"Run with that," the director confirmed. "We got a crew up in the sticks in Resembool, going up to that automail shop where Alphonse grew up after their folks died. Gonna interview old Doc Pinako about Alphonse's childhood. Might as well get some color from Fullmetal's wife—hey, wonder why she and the kids aren't here to celebrate. He's turning twenty—what?"  
"Twenty-one, sir."  
"Yeah, well, strange he didn't send for his family. Anyway, we can get the wife and kids on the air to send him a live greeting from Resembool. That'll make a good human interest angle. Dames love that kinda thing."  
"Yeah—we can scoop with the Central Times. What a great cover story for the morning edition, eh?"

 

Licking her lips nervously, Winry leaned into the microphone the nice man from Central had pointed to her face. "We've been married…about three years," she told him. "We have two wonderful children, Maes and Nina-MAES! Quit picking your nose—ooops! Sorry!" she stammered, quickly handing her son a handkerchief before he either wiped snot all over the reporter's sleeve or, worse, ate the mess off his finger.  
There was a muffled sound from her daughter's diaper. "Nina farted," Maes pointed out with the same serious tone Ed would have used to discuss alchemic principles with a colleague. The reporter bit his lip. This kid was priceless.  
"Not now, Maes," Winry hushed.  
"But she did," he insisted stubbornly. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "She shit too!" he added. "She's all stinky!"  
"I'll take her. Excuse me, gentlemen." Pinako scooped the little girl up off the couch and whisked her away for a wash and a change.  
Winry gestured for Maes to follow his great grandmother but the reporter shook his head. "Nahh, the kid's fine. Let him stay. So, two beautiful children. Are you hoping to give Maes and Nina more brothers and sisters?"  
Inwardly, Winry panicked. Godz Studios prided itself on its professional image. Godz engineers were treated with the same respect as the finest physicians and physical therapists in Amestrian medicine. She would have to present a more professional face to the world from now on as a representative of the legendary studio.  
And besides…it wasn't like Ed was going to hear this local broadcast, right?  
"Oh yes!" she gushed. "Of course, we're going to settle in to our new home in Rush Valley first. I've been invited to join the Godz Studio—"  
"Godz Studio? Mrs. Elric, that's amazing! A busy mother with a growing family and she's joining the most prestigious automail studio in the known world! How do you do it?"  
"Well…Ed's useful around the house," she continued. "I mean, he's not an alchemist anymore, but he tries, you know?"  
The reporter consulted his notes and moved in a fraction closer. "I understand that your husband is in Central and is currently living at the Presidential Palace. He's been seen at quite a number of official functions, mingling with the foreign dignitaries and the cream of Central society. Meanwhile, his wife is working so hard as the breadwinner of the family, or so it seems. Tell me, Mrs. Elric-how does it feel to know that your husband is celebrating his twenty-first birthday with the Emperor of Xing, the President of Amestris and the Tsar of Drachma instead of being home with you and the kids?"  
Winry flushed. "Well…ah…"  
"Were you invited to the celebration?"  
"Of—of course!" she stammered, twisting her hands nervously. "Ed would never put anything before his family! He—he—knew that I was busy getting packed for our move, so I told him we'll have our own family celebration when he comes home in a few weeks." She felt a trickle of sweat under her arms and down the middle of her back, even though it was the middle of winter.  
The reporter winked. "Maybe you'll give him a special present-and Maes and Nina will have a new little brother or sister to play with."  
"I'm counting on it!" she blurted.  
The microphone pointed at her son. "How about that, Maes—do you want to be a big brother again?"  
Maes wriggled uncomfortably. "I gotta piss!"  
"Maes! Language!"  
"I do!" the child insisted.  
Winry giggled awkwardly. "Well…family first. That's the way it is for us Elrics. Will you excuse me?"  
"Thank you, Mrs., Elric—and thank you, young man."  
A trickle of urine dripped down the toddler's pants leg and onto the reporter's shoe. "I…I think that's a wrap."

 

In the Fuhrer President's office, Riza Hawkeye snapped the radio off. "Shit."  
Havoc glanced at her anxiously. In all the years he'd known her, Riza Hawkeye had never soiled her gorgeous mouth with anything even closely resembling a vulgarity. "You think Ed heard it?"  
"Bad news travels fast—and with Alphonse in the public eye as a hero there is no way he won't find out." She glanced out the window. In the distance she could see the Xerxes making lazy circles around the city. She could imagine that right now Ed was having the time of his life up there in the cold with his new friends, his old companion—now the Emperor of Xing, she reminded herself—and his beloved younger brother. She imagined that they would touch down in a few hours, chilled to the bone and euphoric, Ed bouncing around with his old zest and energy, dashing into the library to devour anything and everything about balloon construction. He'd probably be sketching his own designs before dinner.  
Or at least he would have, if Winry had been discreet and handled the reporter with a good deal more finesse.  
"I'd better inform the-"  
There was a loud curse from the inner office, accompanied by the sound of a coffee cup smashing against the fireplace."  
Havoc grimaced. "I think he's just found out. Damn."  
Riza nodded grimly. "I'll check on him."  
Their eyes met. "I'll come with you and clean up the mess."  
She paused. Then she nodded. "That would be nice of you…Jean."


	18. ARCHER ON TARGET

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank Archer—gossip columnist for Radio Central, has broadcast Winry’s face-saving falsehoods about reconciling with Ed nationwide—and there’s nothing Roy can do to keep Ed from finding out and going ballistic. But Winry’s been manipulated on purpose— is Archer’s real target Fuhrer Mustang….?

HALF LIVES, Chapter 18: ARCHER ON TARGET  
By the Binary Alchemist, 2010

 

In the control room at Radio Capital the program director gave a thumbs-up to the engineer, who struck three melodic chimes to announce the noon hour. A red light flashed in the sound booth and a familiar bouncy theme song filled the shops and parlors and offices of Central and all its regional affiliate stations throughout Amestris.  
"It's…. Midday Amestris, with your hosts Donnel Samuelson and Elinor Buchannan. Brought to you by Central Meat—where every Wednesday is Pork Day—be sure to check our circular in the Central Times for our specials this week. And by Gracia's Crafty Craft Emporium, on the Square in downtown Central, where this weekend we'll have a two-for-one sale spectacular on knitting supplies. And now—here's Donnel and Elinor!"  
Roy grimaced. Midday Amestris, he had determined, was probably the number one cause of adult onset diabetes in the country. Saccharine, scripted and nauseatingly cheerful. He'd heard it for the first time after an epic night of drinking alone and for an awful moment had thought he was hallucinating. The theme alone made him grit his teeth—not to mention having to endure hearing Gracia's daily "Crafty People" segment that came on each day at 1pm, where some old geezer would drone on to Gracia and Elycia about his collection of old cigar bands or Gracia would detail clever uses for earwax or some such rubbish. It was nice that she'd taken the money from her widow's pension and opened what Knox referred to as The Goddamned Doily Shop, but hearing her voice—and worse, hearing Elycia prattling on the air—served only as a keen reminder of the man he had lost.

Roy never tuned it in. That was Sheska's doing. Roy's office staff adored Midday, and as it aired at noon and since he generally had lunch in his office, there was no escaping it—not unless he was willing to put up with the sulking and pleading of an office of pretty girls who melted at Donnel's warm baritone. It was Sebastian that suggested that he allow the girls to tune in. "It might be informative to listen to the show, Sir," the butler had suggested. "Those are the voices of the common people, and while it may be more than a little tedious for His Excellency's ears he might find out what is being discussed in the shops and homes around the country. Especially," he added with emphasis, "the Archer On Target segment."  
Archer On Target? "That gossip monger? You're insane," Roy grumbled. "He sickens me. All he does is bait the hook, throw it out and hope some idiot bites down hard. Thinks he can take down the mighty from their pedestals. How the bloody hell," he slapped his desk top for emphasis, " did an idiot like Frank Archer end up with his nose up the country's backside, I ask you?"

Sebastian smiled. "A story got leaked about Fuhrer President Grumman's habit of being a bit too…familiar…with young women on his staff. It was suppressed, needless to say, but it might have blown out of proportion. And in view of the current political climate—if I may make so bold—it could be instructive to…soldier through…the broadcast, simply to be aware in the event that Mr. Archer turns his arrows in His Excellency's direction."  
Roy was not overly fond of Sebastian, but the butler had a knack for keeping his fingers on the pulse of the world around him—including the world behind closed doors at the capital. And so every weekday afternoon at 12:30 he would feign interest in a pile of paperwork and listen carefully, scribbling down anything that might be of potential impact….

No surprise that the lead story was all about Alphonse the Aeronaut and the flight of the Xerxes in the skies above Central. There was a biography of Alphonse—one carefully crafted by Roy's spin doctors and public relations team—and in honor of the Emperor the cooking segment was devoted to Suk Muk Dik or Pee Man Cok-or whatever the hell Roy thought they called it. All he knew was it contained dog meat—and Roy would cheerfully prefer to eat a pile of pencil shavings before even considering digging in to a steaming plate of canine cuisine, however popular it was back East. Gracia's segment was on the game Xingese Jump rope—tiàopíjīn, to be accurate—with Elycia chanting out the jumping rhymes.

Roy yawned, stretched and called for fresh coffee. He was tired from the exuberant lovemaking of the night before, and Elycia's rhythmic sing-song caused him to drift into a pleasant reverie….mmmm….hot buttered Elric on Velvet…showering at the Palace afterwards and the luxury of sleeping spooned tightly together, his knees tucked under Ed's , their fingers laced together and the sweet scent of freshly washed hair and warm skin….that slow, lingering kiss before he rose to dress…that strange-almost-painful feeling in his chest when he stole one last look at his lover before he left. It almost felt like his heart was being stretched from the inside to hold all this new emotion…  
"….And thank you, Elycia! Wow, kids say the darndest things, don't they, Donnel?"  
"They certainly do, Elinor! And speaking of cute kids—in our next segment Frank Archer will take us live to Resembool in the East Region for a rare look into the lives of the Elric Brothers we've been talking about all morning!"  
"That's right, Donnel! Today's 'Archer On Target' brings us to the famous Rockbell Automail Studio where Dr. Pinako Rockbell will talk about Alphonse growing up, and we'll learn more about the retirement of Edward Elric from his glamorous life as a State Alchemist from his lovely wife Winry—and we'll get to meet the newest Elric genius, little Maes Urey Elric, who is Edward's son—"  
Roy froze. "Turn it up," he called through the open door.  
He listened in horror. The staff was oohing and cooing about how cute little Maes was—"Nina FARTED….She did!"-and how like Edward he was—"She SHIT, too!" Roy barked for them to pipe down but it was useless.  
"—I didn't know she was pregnant!"  
"She's not! She said she and Ed were moving to Rush Valley—"  
"—I thought he was staying in Central—"  
"—you mean they didn't even invite her to Ed's birthday?"  
"—maybe he didn't want her. Lots of fish in the sea, and now that he's gotten so tall he's really—"  
There was a curse and a loud crash in the Fuhrer's office. Five leggy and attractive young stenographers jammed the door in a mad rush to see what had happened. The Fuhrer's favorite coffee mug was in pieces on the black marble hearth and there was a brown stain on the hand-loomed carpet.  
"Dropped my cup," said His Excellency calmly from the other side of the room. "Carry on, ladies."  
"So what do we do, Chief?" The mess was gone. The smashed bits of mug—which had once belonged to Hughes—were disposed of and a fresh cup steamed fragrantly on the Fuhrer's desk. He ignored it.  
Riza Hawkeye peered out the window. "Coming around for mooring in, Sir." She looked worried. "How do you want to handle this?"  
Roy ruffled his hair in frustration. Then he folded his hands decisively over the notes he'd made on Archer's broadcast. More children…move to Rush Valley…retirement…FRANK ARCHER. That name was circled and underlined boldly.  
"Cordon off the landing area. Send uniformed officers and MP's. Tell them it is a safety precaution. Nobody within 100 meters who isn't authorized. Colonel Hawkeye, meet him when he lands. Major—" Roy scrawled a quick note, signed it, and then folded it. "—get this to Lieutenant Fuery."  
Then he smiled. It was not a very nice smile. "Sheska!" he called crisply. "Get Brigadier General Armstrong on the line." He turned to Hawkeye and Havoc. "It galls me to be beholden to that woman for any reason, but I'm willing to risk it. Get moving!"  
"YES, SIR!"  
"One more thing—" Roy's eyes narrowed. "Get the bandsmen out on the field before they land. Standard uniforms, no need to dress up. Get them inside the cordoned area, as close to the Xerxes as possible. Just the brass section—give me about four trumpets, a tuba, and a trombone—no, add the bass drum and cymbals too. Lots of cymbals. On the double now!"  
"Sir?"  
"I said MOVE IT!"  
Hawkeye and Havoc snapped to attention. Havoc was grinning widely now and even Hawkeye was smiling. "YES, SIR!"

 

"Girlfriend—WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"  
Winry jerked the phone away from her ear. She had never heard Mr. Garfiel screech like that before, not even when he accidentally burned a hole in his best silk kimono with a hot rivet. "Wha—what do you mean? Mr. Garfiel, I –"  
"Precious child, letting your little boy swear like that on the radio. I tell you, the sooner you get little Maes and Nina away from Ed's potty mouth the better. Why, I blushed for you, child."  
She was totally baffled. "Mr. Garfiel, are you at the hotel? I didn't know you were in town."  
Now it was Garfiel's turn to sound baffled. "What Resembool? I'm right here where I ought to be—where you ought to be—here in Rush Valley."  
"Then…how did you hear Maes on our local radio? It only carries through the Rain River Valley region."  
There was a moment of stunned silence. "Darling…you DO have radio, don't you?"  
"Well…Granny listens to the news at breakfast and at suppertime, but the rest of the day we're so busy-  
"Winry, Cherie, you've heard of Midday Amestris?"  
"Well, yeah, but—"  
"Don't you know who Frank Archer is?"  
"I—I mean, he's the man who did the story on us for Rain Valley Radio, but I don't see—"  
There was a dramatic sigh of frustration on the other end of the line. "Sweetie, that man is a bigger bitch than I've ever been—and that's saying something. He's dreadful. Such a muckraker. If there isn't a scandal, he'll make one up. If there isn't a war, he'll start one. Granny wasn't with you after Maes made that remark about Nina having to go poopie, right? That's when he started making all those sly questions about your marriage—oh, he's a slyboots if there ever was one!" Winry could almost hear him wringing his chubby hands. "You didn't even realize it, did you? Precious, you lied like a Xingese rug! All that ca-ca about Ed going to Rush Valley with you and making more little Elrics. You do know he's going to—" He could hear her startled gasp. "Winry, he is going to find out—if he hasn't heard it already. So if I were you, I'd face the music."  
He was right. She babbled. She panicked.  
Oh, hell. She lied.  
"I…I just didn't want…to look…you know….bad. For the Godz people." If she'd had a wrench in her hand she'd have been tempted to whack herself soundly for being such a fool. "I didn't want to risk-"  
"Poppet, you could parade through the streets of Rush Valley wearing nothing but one of those strap-on vibrating thingamajigs and the Godz would not give a damn. They want you for your genius, Winry. So you've made a fool of yourself for nothing. And Edward is going to get his panties in a major twist about this."  
"What do I do?"  
###  
"You think there's any truth to it, Archer?"  
The reporter flicked the ash off an expensive—and illegally imported—Cretan cigar. "You know, they've been calling him The Widow Hughes ever since the shooting. He's known Fullmetal since he was—what, eleven years old? He finally hit puberty. Not as good looking as Aeronaut Al but he's all right. Broads love the long hair and the drama. That head nurse told me Mustang got out of hand at the hospital. Slept by his bed every night. Threw a bedpan full of Ed's shit at a bunch of her staff out in the smoking area. And she said that last night Ed Elric was in the hospital it sounded like two wild cats fucking and tearing the place apart. And Knox threw him out the next day." He grinned and savored a mouthful of brandy. "Yeah, boys…I think we got the goods on the Flamer…so let's turn up the heat, shall we?"  
"I can't believe that Ed married such a gullible broad."  
"Nice tits, though," Archer offered.  
###  
"Mustang here."  
There was a pause and the sound of someone nervously clearing her throat. "Uhh…Your Excellency? Um…this is…ah…"  
Roy sighed heavily. "For the love of god, Winry—just call me Roy."  
"Is…is…Edward there…?"  
Roy glanced at the window. "He'll be landing shortly. Should I have him call you at home?"  
"Y-yes. Or…no. Um," she stammered, "Tell him I hope he has a happy birthday."  
The silence of the other end of the phone was ominous. Finally Roy answered, "That would depend on whether or not he's heard Archer on Target yet. And—" he cut her off before she could take a breath, "—I'm going to great lengths to make sure I get him inside and out of the crowd before he finds out. But I'm afraid it is inevitable."  
"You heard it."  
Pause. "Yes."  
"What…did you think."  
Pause. "I think…that Maes is a very precocious young man and I look forward to meeting him soon." Another pause. "As for your plans for expanding your family and your new life in Rush Valley—that's between you and Edward."  
"Are you in love with him?" She blurted out before she could stop herself.  
"Yes." Roy's voice was very soft. "That's why I step aside and let him think for himself."  
###  
"All right, Brother. Now…that's it…steady on the descent…good…mooring lines are down…and the ground crew is—wow, what's with that brass band down there?"  
An Amestrian military band was honking out a dreadful interpretation of the Xingese national anthem. "Holy crap, that's awful," Ed shook his head. "Sounds like somebody buttfuckin' a flock of geese!" He leaned over the side. "HEY! Shut the fuck up down there!"  
At the sight of Ed shaking his fist angrily over the side of the gondola they launched into an ear-splitting version of "Happy Birthday", complete with crashing cymbals. "Geez, that sucks," Ed complained. "Bet that's Mustang's idea of a joke. Lemme get this thing grounded and I'm gonna go straight into his office and kick his ass!"  
Maxim stared at Dr. Chen. "This is respect for one's superiors in Amestris?"  
Alphonse shook his head, laughing. "No—they've known each other most of Ed's life. If they weren't close friends Ed would never say such things."  
Ed's grin was wicked. "Right. I'd say worse. All right, everybody. Bend your knees and hang on…I'm bringin' this sucker down and it's gonna be….YES! Fuckin' perfect!"  
There were people in the crowd shouting and waving, reporters flashing cameras but Colonel Hawkeye hustled them out of the cold and into the Palace before they could sign any of the proffered autograph books or answer any questions.  
###  
When Edward Elric was irritated, he snapped and griped.  
When Edward Elric was angry, he yelled and cursed.  
When Edward Elric was furious, he started throwing punches.  
When Edward Elric was pushed to the limit…he got very, very quiet.  
He rose and walked slowly to the window, fingers tightly curled around his coffee mug. His face was unreadable. He stared out at the Xerxes. Al wondered if Ed was wishing they had never returned to the ground..  
At last he spoke, not turning to look at Roy or his brother. "Did she know this was going out on nation wide radio?"  
"I don't know. She may have thought it was for your area station. She sounded upset."  
"Yes. She should be." His fingers touched the frosty glass. "Strange. I promised her that the only tears she would ever cry would be tears of joy. I never knew that promise would come at such a cost." He bowed his head. "And I've paid enough."  
"Edward—I heard Maes. I heard your son on the radio."  
He didn't turn around. "How did he sound?"  
Roy smiled. "Like you. He said 'shit', 'piss' and 'fart' on the air within a five minute interview."  
There was a faint chuckle and Ed shook his head. "Must be genetic."  
"I look forward to finally meeting Maes and Nina and spending time with them," Roy added gently. "I want to get to know them."  
"You'll be a better influence on them than I will."  
Al looked pensive. "Brother—is there anything I can do-?"  
Ed turned slowly. He glanced from Roy to Havoc, to Hawkeye and finally to his brother. "Yes. You can all leave me the hell alone."  
###  
"Ed, I know you're mad—"  
"I…don't…want…to hear…one…word. Do..you..understand me, Winry?"  
His quiet, calm tone frightened her. "Yes," she whispered, and something cold and anxious bloomed in the pit of her stomach.  
"I am not going to lie for you." She could hear him breathing hard, keeping his anger in check. "I will not call you a liar. But I…will…not…tell…lies. And if that makes you look bad….tough shit. Did you get that, Winry?"  
A very small voice answered, "…yes…."  
"Put Maes on the phone."  
A moment later he heard her tell the little boy your daddy is on the phone. He wants to talk to you. There was a muffled sound and then a boyish voice piped up "Daddy?"  
"Maes? I heard you on the radio. You were great. I'm proud of you, son. Are you being a good boy?"  
"YAH!" Maes giggled. "I don't hit Den. She not mad now."  
"That's right," Ed assured him. "We don't hit people or animals. Is Nina a good girl too?"  
"Yuh-huh! She did a boom-boom. Mama said not say 'shit'."  
"Mama is right, and I'm proud of you both. I'm going to be home soon and I can't wait to see you. Give your sister and Granny a big hug for me."  
" 'kay!"  
"Love you, son."  
"Love Daddy!"  
Ed scrubbed the tears out of his eyes and cleared his throat. "I need to talk to Mama now."  
After a moment, he could hear her breathing hard in the receiver. "Did he hit Den?" he asked in a dangerously soft voice. Yes, she admitted. Pinako caught him going after Den with a wooden spoon—but she quickly assured her that Granny had had a constructive talk with the boy and since then he had only patted her with great gentleness.  
"Looks like Alphonse isn't the only one who's seen you hit me. And this is the end, Winry. I've had it. You take those kids to Rush Valley, and I'm going to fight you every step of the way. I'm not going to have them messed by your—"  
"Then what are you going to do, Ed? Raise them in the Palace? Where are you going to get diapers and milk in an airship? Are you going to give up your life to raise them?"  
"Well, you damn well aren't doing it!"  
"I was going to get a NANNY, damn it!"  
"You…you'd better do better than that, Winry," his voice began to rise.  
"You should talk," she snapped back.  
In the background, Maes began to whimper. Ed sighed. "Winry…don't. Just….don't. He doesn't deserve this. This is how it starts…and I don't want him to be as fucked up as I obviously am. Kiss Nina and give Granny my love. And Winry?"  
"….yes, Ed?"  
"Unless there's an emergency with the kids or Granny or if they need something….don't call back."  
###  
When Roy arrived at their quarters, Ed didn't look up. He had folded himself into the middle of the sofa, a book unread in his hands, staring at the fire.  
Roy sat quietly down beside him, placing a bottle of fine Aerugoan brandy on the table with two crystal glasses beside it. He poured a measure for himself, took a sip and watched the flames dance. It was a companionable silence. There was no pressure for Ed to respond or even acknowledge Roy's presence. But he was there.  
After awhile, Alphonse wandered in and poured himself a drink. Sinking down onto the floor beside the couch he laid out his notebook on the coffee table and began working on a sketch for a new gondola burner design.  
Ling ducked in, carrying a bottle of maotai, a vicious spirit consumed by the thimbleful. He claimed the opposite end of the couch, crossed his legs and made himself comfortable.  
Alexi looked mischievous, a large plate of sandwiches in one hand, and a tin of sweet biscuits in the other. Maxim brought a chessboard and a deck of cards. Pyotir began to strum very softly on a small balalaika, his voice a low, mellow baritone.  
Kenichi Chen brought steamed dumplings and more coffee for those who wanted to stay just this side of sobriety. He also brought a small workbasket with leather scraps cut to the pattern of a flight helmet, faced with thick, soft fleece. He set to work meticulously stitching away, humming tunelessly under his breath.  
Jean Havoc and Riza Hawkeye came in together. They were both out of uniform and each had a bottle of beer.  
Finally, Ran Fan stepped out of the shadows. She sat down near the door but still close enough to be a part of this silent gathering of friends who had decided they would not leave Edward Elric the hell alone, even when he told them to.  
They spoke quietly among themselves, eyes lifting and heads turning to include the silent companion in their conversations—but no one felt ill at ease by his reverie. He'd speak about he was ready. They knew it, accepted that—accepted him.  
A soft rap on the door. Ran Fan rose and let Sebastian in. He bowed and placed a cream cake, stuffed with fresh strawberries, on the table in front of Edward, and bowed again. "With my compliments, sir." The door closed quietly behind him.  
Roy's eyebrows lifted. "If there is a hell, it just froze over."  
A corner of Ed's mouth lifted. Plucking a scarlet berry off the top, he bit into it, nodding. "How'd he know my favorite?"  
"Son of a bitch is psychic, sometimes." Roy was smiling now. "And he made it himself. He's a better pastry chef than Ramsay—although for the love of god don't quote me or I'll get a cleaver between the eyes next time I sneak into the kitchen for a snack in the middle of the night."  
Ed cleared his throat. His fingers laced and unlaced, then curled around Roy's brandy glass. "I…" He seemed at a loss for words. Al looked up and nodded in encouragement. "I…guess I…need to set a few things straight. And if you're here—"  
"—it's because we are your friends," Ling confirmed.  
"Da," Maxim stated firmly. "We have only known you short while—but you reached out to us, to break down walls between our peoples. We are scientists and brothers, Edward."  
Havoc and Hawkeye and Ran Fan didn't comment. They didn't need to. As for Dr. Chen, he beamed at the elder Elric. "I know you through knowing Alphonse-sama. His friendship was a gift unlooked for and much treasured. You are a part of each other. You too are my friend."  
Ed glanced at Roy. "You don't have to ask," the Fuhrer told him. "You know where I stand."  
Ed sighed quietly, then looked at them, one by one. "All right. Bottom line. This," he gestured to the patch that had been re-shaved when Knox had removed the blood clot, now showing a fine golden stubble. "wasn't an accident. My…Winry got frustrated and decked me with an automail prosthetic. And," his face was flushed and he lowered his eyes again. "this wasn't the first time. Al's seen it happen. And so has my son, looks like."  
No one spoke but their faces told him mutely to continue, that it was safe to tell the whole story. "We're done. And I'm gonna have to figure out how to do right by the kids. She's not a bad person—but we bring out the worst in each other. I…when I stopped being Fullmetal, I stopped being the man she thought she wanted. We're…too much alike. We're better apart. And…" he bit his lower lip and then risked a glance at Roy, "…I know where I want to be. And who I want to be with." He looked up into Roy's eyes and saw only trust and affirmation. "Maybe you can accept that. Maybe not, but that's my decision. And I know that sooner or later, some asshole will drag us through the mud. Bet that's why Winry got set up by that dickhead, Archer. But I'm here. I'm staying. And," his hand barely touched Roy's, " and whatever the fuck comes, we'll deal, okay?"  
###  
"See that interview with Edward in the paper this morning?" Funderburg greeted Pinako as he made his morning rounds with the mail and daily paper.  
"You haven't given it to me yet, you old fool," she grumbled. "Is it something I need to know about before Winry sees it."  
"Mebbe." He tugged his cap nervously, searched for the right words and didn't find them. " 'Mornin', then." He pedaled down the road as fast as his old legs could carry him.  
It was an article about the flight of the Xerxes, how Ed was learning to pilot and design airships with his brother, under the tutelage of some doctor from Xing. How he was planning to fly with Alphonse Elric, Kenichi Chen, and a trio of scientists from Drachman to Aerugo as a scientific envoy accompanying Fuhrer Mustang. After their return from Aerugo, it went on to state, the group would spend the summer in Drachma to lecture and study at Stoltovgrad University.  
And as for the recent interview on Radio Capital's popular Midday Amestris program which revealed that Edward Elric would be relocating with his family to Rush Valley, Mr. Elric stated that in face he and Mrs. Elric had come to 'an amicable agreement of divorce' and that he wished her much success, adding a personal endorsement of her skills as an automail engineer. He also stated that he was quite proud of his young son's first appearance on national radio and that he looked forward to seeing both his young children in the weeks to come.  
"Balls."  
Pinako tucked the paper under her arm, took a deep pull on her long stemmed pipe and bent down to scratch Den behind the ear. "Knew he had 'em." She grinned, puffed out a wreath of smoke and then padded up the steps to greet the anxious young woman who was waiting in the doorway….  
…TO BE CONTINUED…


	19. A GENTLEMAN AND A SCHOLAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcoh and Colonel Miles from Ishbal. Dr. Chen from Xing. Professor Petrovsky from Drachma. Alphonse Elric from Amestris. Brilliant minds one and all—all gathering at the Presidential Palace at the request of Fuhrer Roy Mustang to discuss the mysterious proposal Roy will offer not just to Amestris but to the world—a project that could lead to the redemption of Edward Elric…

HALF LIVES, Chapter 19: A Gentleman and A Scholar  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010

 

A blonde woman hurried down the main street of Resembool village, daughter on one hip, son trailing behind, hand clasped tightly in hers. "Maes, come on," she urged as he stared, wide-eyed , at a passing Ishballan. The older woman noted the pale Amestrian child with the wide golden eyes staring at her and offered him a friendly smile. The boy's face lit up. "Pretty!" he crowed. "Mama, look! Pretty lady!"  
"Maes! Come on!" And he was bustled on down the street to the depot where the last of her crates would be loaded on the six o'clock mail run.  
The Ishballan's crimson eyes followed after him. Only one man's descendants bred golden hair and eyes—Van Hohenheim. Colonel Miles had spoken of his valor in the camps—how he had sacrificed himself to stop the horrors that nearly destroyed the country—a nation of tyrants that her own people had helped to save. And Mustang—a man whose name had been drenched in innocent blood—had risked his life to rebuild their homeland. He had come to them, humbled and soft spoken, pledging to restore the Ishballan homelands and make reparations for the sins of the Bradley regime. "I was hardly more than a boy, given terrible work to do. I make no excuses and sadly I cannot bring back the dead…but I can pledge myself to the service of the living and the generations to follow."  
And Mustang had been as good as his word. He and Marcoh and Miles rolled up their sleeves and labored side by side with Ishballas' people. Five years ago, she thought, I could not walk down this street without frightening people or risking my safety. Today, Hohenheim's blood called me a pretty lady and smiled at me. Precious God, may You be praised that I should live to see this day…

 

"Ummmm….hello?"  
His Excellency had ordered Alphonse late last night to a private meeting first thing in the morning. They would convene in Staff Room 3 in the Presidential office suite. All he had been told was to bring his notes, 'come hungry' and specifically not to tell his brother.  
Colonel Hawkeye sat at attention, scribbling in a notebook. Jean Havoc slouched comfortably opposite her, lipping an unlit cigarette and looking thoughtful. They both nodded when Alphonse slipped around the door, looking slightly guilty about meeting like this behind Ed's back. "Morning'!" Havoc offered cheerfully, gesturing to a basket that smelled deliciously of rare mountain blueberries from the North. "Sebastian's whipped up some scones and there's a fresh urn of coffee behind you. Grab a cup and a plate and get started. We don't wait on Mustang—not when Sebastian's been manning the oven. I swear, Ramsay's a damn good chef but Ol' Sebby's a….master baker…if there ever was one." Chortling at his own attempt at humor, Havoc slathered butter over his split scone and then, to Al's surprise, passed it across the table to Colonel Hawkeye. She didn't look up from her notes but nodded her thanks.  
Al spread out the pile of notes and blueprints Roy had entrusted him with over two weeks ago, Beside them he placed a sheaf of his own sketches and every idea, objection and constructive suggestion he could come up with. Doing all this research without sharing—it made him uncomfortable. But his friend—no, the leader of his nation—had asked this of him. There was no way Alphonse would refuse.  
"Thank you for waiting. Havoc, if you've eaten all the blueberry scones you have done so at my extreme displeasure."  
Hawkeye glanced up. 'There might be a few left. There are also cranberry orange and almond with chocolate shavings." She nodded towards the urn. "There might be some coffee left…"  
Roy scowled. "Damn well better be, or Sebastian is going to be grilling wieners at the sausage cart on the plaza."  
"Hardly necessary, Sir. I've just come from the kitchen." Right on Roy's heels came Sebastian, pushing a gleaming cart crowded with covered platters that he quickly spread out over the sideboard. Al's nose twitched in appreciation at a whiff of ham biscuits, breakfast links and pitchers of fresh squeezed juice.  
"Just how many people are coming to this meeting?" Al wanted to know.  
Hawkeye answered without looking up from her notes. "The four of us, plus Dr. Chen, Colonel Miles, Maxim Petrovsky—and Dr. Tim Marcoh."  
Al sat up straight. Miles and Marcoh had come from Ishbal to Central for this meeting—but they still hadn't told Brother? What in the world—  
"Alphonse! It's good to see you!" A misshapen face creased into a smile as Tim Marcoh clasped his shoulder with real affection.  
"Indeed. It has been a long time. I'm pleased to observe that you have grown significantly since last we met, Alphonse Elric." Miles no longer concealed his red eyes, and behind his military correctness there was an unmistakable warmth in his words. Returning to his people to serve as governmental liaison had given Miles new purpose, although he owned that he missed his comrades in the north.  
Everybody heaped their plates and to Al's surprise they paused in respectful silence as Miles murmured a brief prayer of thanksgiving over his own plate. "Is there anything else you need?" Sebastian enquired. "More…butter…Sir?"  
For some reason, that harmless inquiry made Colonel Hawkeye flush, Major Havoc drop his ham biscuit and the Fuhrer himself nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee. "I have all the butter I need," Mustang muttered, spots of high color burning in his cheeks.  
"I'm certain that you do, Sir." A smile and a bow and the butler disappeared with his silver cart. Al did a few mental calculations…thought of his brother…and he blushed too.  
"Alphonse! Get on with it!" the President barked, waving his fork for emphasis. "Don't keep our guests waiting. This idea of mine—will it fly?"  
Every eye was fixed on him, their expressions baffled. Obviously not one of them had a clue why the Fuhrer had summoned them to Central. It was with real relief that he was able to nod with genuine enthusiasm. "Yes, Your Excellency. And it will be my honor to assist you."  
"Stop talking like a diplomat, Alphonse. And at ease. You're not under my command. Be yourself."  
"Y-yes sir!"  
Roy nodded briskly. "Colonel Hawkeye? If you please?"  
Each person at the table was presented with a portfolio stamped "PROJECT ALEXANDRIA: EYES ONLY"  
"Gentlemen—Colonel Hawkeye. I am going to excuse myself for approximately one hour. During that time I wish you to enjoy your breakfast and study your copy of this proposal—and please direct your questions to Alphonse, who has consented to advise me on the viability of this project. And when I return," he smirked, "you can tell me whether or not I am still in possession of my good sense."

 

"What do YOU want?" Ed glared at Dr. Knox. He'd been called to the doctor's office after undergoing a complete physical at Roy's order. "Humor me," his lover had told him. "Nobody's had a good look at you since you left the refugee camp in Central after the Promised Day. Do it for my peace of mind."  
"That's gonna cost you…hmmm….a backrub and a blowjob," Ed estimated. A large feather pillow had caught him across the chest with a wallop. "And that's gonna cost you more, bastard," Ed whooped, snatching up his own pillow and swinging back. Soon the two men were dashing around the Presidential Bedroom, hurling mortal threats and pounding the hell out of each other until the air was white with feathers and they were laughing so hard they couldn't breathe.  
"C'mere, you brat," Roy was panting as he caught Ed by the arm and yanked him close. He was sweaty and covered with fluff and his hair was plastered to his shoulders. "God, you'd look good on your knees right now," Roy purred, "but you bear a discomforting resemblance to a goose…and I'd have to pluck you before I'd get to fuck you." That had led to more horsing around, a shower and a drain clogged with wet feathers as they soaped and slid and stroked and shuddered and sighed contentedly

That had been two weeks ago. . Roy had dressed quickly this morning for a pre-breakfast meeting and Ed had been driven to the hospital to confront his scowling nemesis.  
"Put 'em on!" A small leather case was slapped down in front of him. Ed pulled out a pair of golden spectacles with thin rectangular lenses. "You're getting short-sighted," he was informed. "Wrecked your eyes with all that reading. These will help."  
Ed opened his mouth to snap back. A sour look from Knox shut him up. He slid the glasses on and then turned his attention to the little card of various text sizes that Knox had thrust into his hands.  
"Well?" the doctor snapped. "Read the damn thing."  
Ed paused. The he grinned. "Copyright 1919, Breslow Printers, Central City"  
"Wiseass." Knox snatched the card back. Ed's sight was so well corrected he could read the tiny print at the bottom of the card. He nodded. "Have 'em checked every year. Keep 'em in a case so you don't scratch 'em. Now get the hell out of here."  
"Why're we stopping here?" Ed demanded from the back seat as Denny Brosh pulled into Jos. A. Weatherington, Gentlemen's Clothier, one of the finest shops in Central City.  
From the front seat, Claude turned around. "You have an appointment before a Magistrate of the State next week, Sir. You must dress appropriately for your divorce hearing, as you did when your marriage occurred."  
Ed cringed. "Uh…yeah…" He had been late—in fact, he had run straight from the train station to the Magistrate's office. Winry had been furious that he turned up late for the wedding in rumpled travel-worn clothing, his hair uncombed and in need of a shower. She'd given him hell in front of the Magistrate and the witnesses, so much so that the Magistrate stopped them and asked quite seriously if they truly wanted to go through with this. He had put it out of his mind as usual when she railed at him in the early days—but the very fact that his own wedding had slipped his mind should have been a hint that perhaps he wasn't as sure as he thought he was that he really wanted to go through with this.  
So—yes. He did want to look respectable this time, and allowed himself to be herded in and let Claude to the talking. "Simple elegance—nothing too outré. Mr. Elric is a scholar and a scientist. His clothing should be practical, clean lines-but of best quality. The dark suit is, of course, what is called for, yes, the more traditional cuts flatter his build. Single button waistcoat, yes. Sober stripes on the tie—that one will suit nicely."  
"You're picking out my clothes like my mother," Ed groused. "I'm over sixteen. I'm all grown up now."  
"Indeed, sir-however yours is the eye of the scientist. Mine," Claude emphasized, "is of an artist. You will note that our Fuhrer never looks less than his best, even when relaxing in his private quarters away from the public eye. Simple clothing of best quality fabrics, tailored to fit properly. There is no reason that you may not do the same, since you are grown and as a scholar you will be traveling extensively. Your garments should wear well, pack well and serve you well, regardless whether you are exploring ancient ruins or dining with the Prince of the Dawn in Aerugo."  
A dark suit for the hearing, several pairs of trousers in dark solids, several reversible waistcoats, a half-dozen shirts, undershorts, socks and a few ties. And to the pile Ed stubbornly added a bright red dressing gown with a hood. "I'll get Al to put the Flamel on it with alchemy…just for old time's sake," he grinned, pleased that it annoyed Claude. "And some leather pants—damned practical with automail sometimes," he added.  
A quick trip to the cobbler for custom shoes that would fit both flesh and automail and they headed back to the Palace. "Damn…and you say women actually like to shop for clothes?" He shook his head in disbelief.  
Back at the palace, Claude held him captive in what had once been his bedroom, where behind locked doors he measured and pinned and a made the odd tuck and stitch. Ed bitched and growled, mollified only when Sebastian stepped in with a luncheon platter of cold roast beef on rye with cheddar cheese, mustard and horseradish sauce, accompanied by a frosty mug of excellent beer. It was hard, Sebastian had commiserated with Claude, to keep Master Edward out of the way while the Fuhrer conducted his private meeting with Master Alphonse. "Rather like baby-sitting a tornado—and a rather testy one at that," Claude sighed.  
"I am sure His Excellency will reward you with an extended holiday if you persevere. I am aware that you are not fond of Master Edward, but may I suggest that you give the young man a chance. If he and His Excellency intend to share a life together than you will not be able to avoid him in future. I have found him rough and often crude in his manner, but beneath it he is altogether worthy of my respect."  
"And he isn't going away," Claude sighed. "Ah well…then what can't be avoided or killed in its sleep must be borne, I suppose…"

It was nearly three pm when Sebastian knocked on Edward's door. "Master Edward? I have a message from His Excellency. He has requested that you join him for high tea in the Presidential Office this afternoon. Your brother will be there, along with a number of scientists of your acquaintance, including a Dr. Tim Marcoh who personally expressed his pleasure at seeing you once again." Ed nodded and, after an uneasy glance at Claude, chose from the recently altered garments a pair of dark moss colored trousers, a matching waistcoat, a high collared white shirt, black sleeve garters and dark shoes. He combed his hair into a neat ponytail, checked under his fingernails for dirt. Then he slipped on his new eyeglasses and critiqued his reflection in the mirror.  
The boy alchemist in black leather and flapping scarlet duster was nowhere to be seen. The stranger that stared coolly back at him was tall, elegant and neat—and the glasses gave him an air of maturity. He looked every inch a man of the academic world and would fit in easily with diplomats, explorers, alchemists and the lads down at the local beer hall. That he bore an uncanny resemblance to a youthful Hohenheim he wasn't aware and would have been annoyed if he had been told. He nodded approvingly. "Not bad. Now," he grinned, "if I can get through tea without saying 'shit'….I'll be fit for the court of that goddamned Prince of the Dawn…"

The guests talked and laughed in the conservatory. Edward was left alone with his tea and the Project Alexandria portfolio. Always a quick study, he burned through the pages, devouring every word. Alphonse sat nearby, ready to answer any of Ed's questions.  
Al had been nervously running his thumb over his fingernails, a habit he'd picked up once he had hands again. He'd listened to the committee's response—but so much hinged on Ed's response. His brother was utterly absorbed, tea untouched and even the strawberry tarts were going neglected. In fact, Alphonse considered waggishly, if Roy had entered the room stark naked just now his ego would be sadly bruised by Ed's complete lack of interest in anything other than the document before him.  
It didn't take long.  
Ed closed the portfolio. He laid it to one side. He got up without a word.  
"Brother—"  
"No."  
"Brother, please—just listen—"  
"I said no." He headed for the door. Al stepped in front of him.  
"Then tell me why. You owe me that much."  
Edward yanked up his sleeve and held out an arm that would never be quite so strong as the other, or as deeply tanned. "This, goddamn it!" He shoved his hand into his brother's face. "Shit, I can't believe you would even consider….no. Not after all I've done, all the people that got hurt—the people that died—"  
"—the nation that survived. Because you were strong enough, Ed. You could have had all the power you wanted—and you laid it down and walked away. Because you chose my life over…damn it, Ed—you could have taken the Father's power and become a god yourself. You chose to give it all up, to save this world and to give me my body back. Who…" his voice was tight with emotion now, "who ELSE can Roy trust with this?"  
"You."  
"And I won't do it alone. I can't. No…it has to be you, Brother." Al's arms slid out and he pulled his brother close, terrified that if he let Edward out that door…if he let him walk away…that demon of purposelessness that had eaten at Ed's soul since he'd surrendered his gift of alchemy would eventually drag Edward down into the darkness. He's seen signs of it in the past few years—the apathy, the withdrawal and the constant running away. The impulsive agreement to marry Winry-all of it pointed to one thing and one thing only:  
Edward Elric had nothing to do. His entire life had been focused on a single obsession: to restore their bodies and bring down Father. He'd accomplished this and given up his alchemical gift. He was now an ordinary man-and he had no mission to fulfill, no dragons to slay, no quest to pursue—not anything that couldn't be resolved in weeks or months or perhaps a year or two.  
He needed a reason—a damned compelling one—to keep on living.  
And within the pages of Roy's Project Alexandria Portfolio, that reason was waiting—if Ed had the courage to accept the mission….  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…


	20. SNOW, BLOOD AND ASHES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Be Thou For The People” was the Alchemist’s credo. For the first time in Amestrian history, Roy Mustang intends to make good on the promise of those words—not just for his country but throughout the continent and across the seas. Roy’s visions of the future have sent Edward off and running again—but can he leave the other half of his heart behind? And not far away…someone is taking aim across the snowy grounds on two lovers plotting to change the future of their nation…

HALF LIVES, Chapter 20: Snow, Blood and Ashes  
By The Binary Alchemist  
Roy Mustang never appreciated the snows of Central City until he returned from the acrid stench of the field of battle. Desert dust and floating ash—ash from a burnt building…perhaps from the charred remains of a dead child…he would never know for sure. Dust and ash made the inside of his nose crack and bleed from the dryness. When he returned home there was a fine dusting of snow which sparkled on Aunt Chris' dark hair as she met him at the station. While other families clung and kissed and wept, she grinned, flicked the end of her cigarette and said, "Damn, you look good in uniform. Always did like a man in uniform. Especially when it's not shot full of holes." And they both laughed, and then he bent down to kiss her cheek and they went out on the town together, arm in arm and she told him she was proud as hell and when he told her his plans to reach the top of military command she just nodded in approval and told him she'd stand by him and help any way that she could. He remembered the pride and support in her keen green eyes and the snow that feathered against their faces as they strolled together through the city, Solstice carols in the air and holiday shoppers bustling around them.  
That night he gazed across the city from the room he had grown up in. The street below was blanketed in a shimmering brilliance. The world was pristine and if he wanted to he could step outside and his footprints would be the only mark that would show. A fresh start. A clear path that had not been sullied by the filth of what he had been forced to do for his Fuhrer and country. What he could not evade in dreams or through the waking hours. Footprints in the dust and sand. Ash and blood on his boots. Ash and blood on his soul.  
Now the snow was blanketing Central once more and those he had gathered to discuss Project Alexandria were watching it through the glass windows of the Palace Conservatory just as Alphonse dashed in and quietly informed Roy that Ed had read the Project Alexandria briefing and had simply….left.. That he had stormed off in a fit of temper was evidenced by the rather impressive black eye the younger Elric brother was sporting. "Sir, ahh….my brother…"  
Roy lifted his hand to cut him off. "I'll look for him myself." The attendees were startled. The President of Amestris should have sent his aides after Edward. Roy Mustang, however, knew his friend and lover was getting ready to run again and was going to put a stop to it. Run from me if you want to, he thought as he shrugged on his heavy overcoat. Run from the future if you think you can. Trouble is, Edward, you can't run from yourself. I know. I've tried.  
"Sir, I—"  
Again the scarred hand lifted in that familiar gesture of dismissal. He didn't even turn around. "Hawkeye, do what you have to do. But don't follow too close. I need to talk to Edward privately. No other pressure."  
He could hear her, a few steps behind. "Is he angry that Alphonse didn't tell him?"  
She couldn't see his smirk. "No, he's angry that I am asking him to honor the promise of the Alchemist's Code."  
"Sir?"  
"Be Thou For The People."  
#####  
"Target sighted. Call the boss."  
"Yessir!"  
"You want me to take care of him?"  
There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone. "No. I want to take him out myself. Back me up, though, in case I can't get a good clean shot. The light is starting to fade. Keep him in your sights, boys. This is the prize of all prizes."  
"Yessir!"  
#####  
"Mama?"  
Clearly Maes didn't quite recognize his mother in anything other than coveralls and sweat and a bandana these days. Gone was the ugly hairstyle that mimicked the mother Ed missed so much. She'd thought once that if she'd adopted the dress and hair of the one woman she knew Ed had loved the most that he would like it. She'd even bought the lavender dress and dabbed on what she remembered as Trisha's favorite scent the day they posed for that picture on the porch.  
As soon as the photographer left, Ed was packing his suitcase. She tried to coax him into the bedroom for a send off that might persuade him to change his mind. Instead he got deeply engrossed in a discussion of Grand Arcanum theory with May Chang and Alphonse and then invited them to ride down to the station to see him off.  
Maes had fretted when most of his toys were packed up and shipped off, so she'd bought him a little toy tool set. It was really cute—a little hammer and saw and screwdriver and wrench made of wood that could turn pegs in a matching wooden bench. Ed can't even drive a nail straight or saw a board in two, she thought irritably. I'll be damned if Maes doesn't learn like a proper boy. I'll bet he's got the Rockbell mechanical knack. I can start him off on some small metal projects in a few years and there's a great training class for kids in the Rush Valley school system. We can hand this down to Nina and see if she's interested—she might be better at it than Maes.  
She was now trying on the dress she's bought for the hearing. It was strange to have a skirt on that covered her knees and a blouse and jacket that did not display her cleavage. Her hair would be neatly pinned up like Riza had worn hers before cutting it again.  
Granny was waiting for them when she got home. She glanced up and down at Winry's new outfit and nodded. "Very appropriate. Now," she frowned. "I got a call from Mr. Garfiel. Told me to tell you that the nanny he'd found for you has taken another assignment but he'll keep looking. Huh! Wanted to know if I would consider moving down and—"  
Winry looked suddenly hopeful. Had her grandmother changed her mind? "Oh, but Granny, it would be wonderful! You're so much better than so many of the automail technicians in Rush Valley! We could set you up and—"  
-and you'd have an in-house nanny to keep Maes and Nina out of your hair that wouldn't cost you a thing."  
Winry knew her eager eyes had betrayed her. "But Granny…you can't run this studio all by yourself—"  
Pinako didn't even dignify that statement with an answer. There was a muffled cry from the nursery. "She's been in that playpen all afternoon. I've had orders to fill and you and your son have been shopping - and having ice cream, judging from the chocolate smears on the boy's shirt. Poor Nina's been fed and changed but she needs more than that, Winry."  
Winry sighed in frustration. "Granny, I just knew we'd get things done faster if Nina stayed at the house—"  
"—and your daughter wouldn't be crying because she's bored and lonesome if you'd taken her with you. Here. " Pinako passed the phone to her granddaughter. "Call Garfiel. Tell him to get off his pink pantied-ass and get you a nanny lined up immediately. That is," she added coolly, "unless you want to explain to the magistrate that you have no solid plans to care for your kids while you're at work. If you don't get serious about this, mark my words, those two innocents are going to find themselves in a foster home—and neither you or Ed will see them. Understand me?"  
#####  
"Fuckin' bastard!"  
At that moment he didn't know whether he hated Roy Mustang more for even thinking about wanting Ed involved in Project Alexandria…or because for the first time in his whole damn life he tried to walk away…and he couldn't. He could burn down his childhood home, turn his back on Resembool, spend years sleeping in roadside ditches and haystacks and in train stations. He could go from his wife's bed to the train station in less than an hour if he was lucky, faster if she was yelling and looking for something to brain him with.  
But this time…he was caught.  
Fuck the suitcase. Fuck the clothes. I'll find what I need when I get Somewhere Else or find a friend to stay with. Hitch a ride out of town—maybe head north to…  
North to nowhere. And whenever he arrived at some run down flophouse or homeless shelter, he'd curl up in the cold, mercifully drunk, and burrow his face into a pillow that didn't smell wonderfully of sandalwood and wood smoke and soft black hair. No long legs tucked up behind his knees, no soft rumble of laughter in the dark. And if he was unlucky—and there had been times on the road when luck was not on his side—several bums might try to hold him down and bugger him, filthy hands clawing at his pretty blonde hair. He'd had alchemy and a large metal brother to protect him on the road when he was younger, but now he had only his fists. If enough men caught him in his sleep and no house warden overheard the scuffle, the risk of rape was damn high, because these men's lives were over. Everything they had, every cherished dream, was gone. Their dreams were gone and they had nothing left to fear.  
And if Roy had found out, Roy would have incinerated them. Slowly, as he had incinerated Envy. Because Roy Mustang had already proved that he would go insane lengths to protect his friends and loved ones.  
And, Ed had to admit to himself, I'm the one he loves. Even if I tell the man to go to hell and fuckin' die, he'll never give up on me. He'll fight for me, die for me—fuckin' lunatic. President of the Motherfuckin' Free World and he'd step right into the path of a bullet—hell, he'd even stand up to goddamn Riza Hawkeye to protect me.   
"I'll be here."  
"I love you."  
Had a motherfuckin' hole drilled in my head, and what did that bastard do? He just held onto my hand. Slept in that crappy assed folding chair, wiped my butt and fought the goddamned nurses to get them to look after me right…  
…and danced with me. And held onto me like…like…  
"…like I was the only thing that mattered." He shook his head slowly. "Goddamn him."  
He was up to his ankles in snow, in his shirtsleeves and his stump was aching from the cold. The wind was picking up as the shadows lengthened towards twilight. It occurred to him that his departure would be easy to track in the fresh snow. How humiliating that the dry powder would now show him turning around and walking back—because something inside him was tugging hard, wrestling with his stubborn spirit. He was chilled to the bone and he wanted the comfort of strong arms around him as he slept, Roy's breath warm and soft against the nape of his neck. "Bastard's gonna laugh his balls off at me," he swore, wishing there was something he could kick or take a swing at, just to relieve the frustration.  
"No. I won't."  
Crap. "What the hell are you doing out here, Fuhrer President? Don't want to mess up your shoe shine in the snow. Might step in a pile of frozen dogshit."  
There was a low chuckle. "Wouldn't be the first time Black Hayate has bombed the parade grounds. I keep asking Hawkeye to carry a waste scoop, but I think she does it just to irritate me."  
He had a vacuum flask that smelt deliciously of hot fresh coffee and two mugs. He inclined his head to a bench nearby. As they approached it, Roy snapped his fingers and the snow evaporated off the stone and it radiated just enough heat to be comfortable to sit on. Settling the coffee and cups on the bench, he swung his heavy overcoat off his shoulders and passed it to Ed, who was shivering in his shirt sleeves. "You'll need this. All that steel still bolted to your skeleton is likely to conduct the cold faster than when you had the carbon content of your old automail to shield you like your leg has." Wordlessly Edward shrugged it on. Roy's body temperature always seemed to be a degree or two warmer than normal. He shuddered slightly with involuntary pleasure. Warmth, weight, and the rich, familiar scent washed over him. He's seen Roy throw that overcoat across his shoulders for years. Once it would have swallowed him. Now the length suited even if it was too wide across the shoulders and chest. "There's a packet of sandwiches and some money in the pockets. And dry socks," he added, topping up Ed's mug. "You can never have enough dry socks in the field. Learned that in Ishbal."  
Ed looked miserable. His new glasses were fogging up and his cheeks were flushed and his nose was running from the cold. Roy wanted to yell at him, tell him to stop being so proud and stubborn—to stop being so afraid of the past that it paralyzed him to think of the future. To stop running because at long last he finally HAD a home, a man who would live and die for him and, if he could bring himself to see the potential, a new purpose in life that would leave a greater legacy, in the end, than Roy's own presidency.  
"You want me to go."  
Dark eyes narrowed. "The hell I do. But I swore I wouldn't stop you. I'll be damned if you're going out cold and hungry without a coat or a sen in your pocket. "  
Ed nodded. "Thanks."  
"You're welcome."  
They sipped their coffee in silence. At last the deep amber eyes cut over to the quiet figure beside him, his dress uniform his only comfort in the cold. "Why me?"  
"Because you fucked up, as you so inelegantly put it. You fucked up. Al fucked up. I fucked up. Do you think for one moment I'd trust something this vital to the future of our world with someone who's just blithely gone through life without a blemish on his or her career? Someone whose hands have never been dirty or bloody—someone who has never had Life kick him in the teeth? Someone who's never had to crawl out of hell and find some damn reason to keep fighting even when it is easier to just lie down and die? No, Edward. No way in hell." He turned to face his lover, one hand on Edward's shoulder. "Who better than you, after what you've done? Would you have made the mistakes you made—would Hohenheim have done what he did—if there had been someone older and wiser who'd done the unthinkable to teach them right from wrong? If Izumi Curtis had told you the truth about transmuting her lost child—would you have done what you did, as much as you wanted your mother back? If she'd told you of the horrors she saw…what a rebound could do…the risks to Alphonse…would you have still tried to bring her back?"  
Ed squeezed his eyes shut. He bowed his head. After a long time, his shoulders began to shake. "I would….I…I'd have done it anyway. I….I wouldn't have listened to anyone." And he buried his face in his hands.  
Roy's arm slid tightly across his shoulders. "But maybe—just maybe-someone would listen to you. And that's why we need you, Edward. Nobody paid the price you and Alphonse paid. And I've come so dangerously close to madness and revenge that my own closest subordinate had to draw on me to get me to calm down. I have the blood of children and women—the blood of the Ishballan nation—on my hands. I have committed genocide. I have seen how easy it is for alchemy to be perverted into a tool of war. And it stops now. If….and it's a big if….I can at least achieve a cease fire with Creta and establish relations with Aerugo…if Alexandria is successful…we will redeem Amestris—and our own souls. If we can prevent one alchemy student—one physicist, one chemist, one alkahestrists-from making a choice that turns a gift into a weapon…would it be worth it to you?"  
"-but…"  
"There are other brilliant minds out there, Edward. Each has the potential for greatness, for good or for bad. If you knew that something you might say to them could tip the balance, would you do it? Do we serve the people? Or," his voice sounded tired and bitter, " do we serve only ourselves or our nation and let the world go hang itself?"  
Edward just looked at him.  
"Be Thou For The People" He was dead serious. "Not Amestris. Not Xing or Drachma—or even this continent. For The People means everybody. This planet, Ed. Across the seas we've never explored. Lands we've never walked on. Languages we've never heard spoken by races we've never seen. What do we really know about our world? We play our sickening little games of mutually assured destruction—when we should be explorers. We know nothing—not one goddamned thing-about what lies beyond our enemy's borders. Amestris has done nothing to further science—unless you count killing people, which we're really damned good at. The way I see it, " he finished with a deep breath, " we either change…or die."  
He rose. He brushed the snow off his cap and settled it neatly on his head. He brushed the snow from his shoulders. Then he held out his hand to the man he loved.  
"Coming?"  
One corner of Ed's mouth quirked up. "You're fuckin' crazy."  
"So they tell me. Well?"  
Edward rose. Laying his coffee cup aside, he stood within inches of his lover's face. "I can't kiss you in public."  
"The hell you can't."  
In the crosshairs, two tall figures merged, a black overcoat wrapped around two lovers who kissed without shame under the shelter of snowy branches. The image blurred and then came sharply into focus.  
A finger twitched.  
#####  
Frank Archer lit one of his best cigars. He'd had one of his toadies bring him a thick porterhouse with fried potatoes from Chris Mustang's joint, along with a bottle of champagne. "Celebrating, sir? What's the occasion?"  
He lovingly eyed the photographs of Roy Mustang and the former Fullmetal Alchemist kissing in the snow. "A spectacular rise in ratings, boys. To the Fuhrer!"  
A dozen glasses sloshed as they were thrust in the air.  
"To the Fuhrer!"  
…TO BE CONTINUED…


	21. WINGS OF FIRE AND LOVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the bond between lovers deepens, Frank Archer’s scandalous photographs are proof of Fuhrer Mustang’s affair with Edward Elric—and he plans to go public just as Roy, Emperor Ling, the Tsar of Drachma and the Elric Brothers plan to present Roy’s bold new vision for the future of Amestris to the Parliament, live on Radio Capital. Riza smells a rat and has a short list of moles in the Palace. Meanwhile, Alphonse has gone behind his brother’s back, unable to turn his back on Winry’s tears…

HALF LIVES, CHAPTER 21: Wings of Fire And Love  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010  
Kain Furey shook his head in disgust. He was all for playing by the rules, but sometimes Roy Mustang drove him out of his mind with his stern orders about How The Press Should Be Handled.  
"Tap in. Listen. But don't interfere."  
"—but, Sir, I-  
"That's an order, First Lieutenant!"  
Sigh. "Yessir…"  
Frank Archer was up to no damn good. Furey lovingly fingered his insulated wire snips. Two good clips and all Amestris would hear would be dead air during one of Frank's insinuation-salted broadcasts. And good as he was, it would take weeks to find the broken lines. But…"if there's no free press, there's no democracy, Furey. No matter what they say about me—I'm not going to muzzle the Fifth Estate. Bradley censored the media so tightly that it was no wonder they were so eager to help us overthrow the regime. Whatever else they may say about me—they have to admit I guaranteed the right of freedom of the press, even when it galled the hell out of me to do so."  
But he wasn't above bugging Archer's office.  
Furey dialed the field line. "Elizabeth? Hi! This is Candy. You know that boy on the archery team? I think he's got his eye on the new blonde in town—you know, the one that just went through the breakup?"  
"Elizabeth" began rapidly jotting down notes. "The one who likes horses?"  
"That's the one. I think that boy has been sniffing around the stable and might try to hurt…ahhh…Edie's ….favorite mount. You know, the black stallion."  
"Elizabeth" checked her ammo clip. "You think that horse is in any danger? Should Claudia and …Tina….be on the lookout for mischief?"  
"I honestly don't know. But it's not a bad idea. And tell Fanny and Jacqueline too."  
Riza scanned her notes: Kain thinks Archer is tailing Edward and may have someone in the Palace acting as a mole, gathering information on the President. Kain advises Claude and Sebastian stay on alert, and to inform Ran Fan and Jean.  
She studied her notes again and added a footnote. She did not mention it to Kain, nor would she mention it to Mustang. It was just a hunch, and she hoped she was wrong, but when it came to Roy Mustang her instincts were indubitably way ahead of the curve.  
#####  
"Uh…okay. You wanna know what I think about this Alexandria business."  
He was wrapped in a heated blanket, sipping scalding hot coffee, his glasses still slightly fogged and his nose still running. Not one person laughed; he held their complete attention.  
"I grew up in this country. My earliest memories are of long blue lines of men limping through the orchard, collapsing in our yard and Mom being asked if they could bury a dead guy on our land or did they have to drag the body all the way to the village." He twiddled with the handle of his coffee cup before he went on. "My…best friend….her parents were innocent doctors. They were shot to death for doing what they knew was the right thing for people who weren't the same color or religion. Didn't matter to them."  
Nobody said a word.  
"My village was burned to the ground-might have been a big city by now but…with the war and everything." He glanced at Alphonse who nodded in agreement. "And my dad—nobody knows what he did to make peace in this country. How he died for every last son of a bitchin' bastard in Amestris. Maybe for the whole goddamn world. Nobody's gonna know. His name isn't gonna be in the history books. They'll remember Roy Mustang. They need to remember Roy Mustang. But they won't remember Van Hohenheim. I…I hated him my whole life, but-" he lowered his eyes, "—I…um…all I can say is…." His fists suddenly slammed down on the table so hard it made everybody jump. "You want me in on this thing you plan to do here in this country-then change the name. I don't give a shit what you call it in Drachma or Xing or anywhere else. But in Amestris, you'd fuckin' well better name it after that bast…name it after my dad!"  
Roy glanced from face to face. Each one nodded in assent. "Right, then." He rose and lifted his glass. "Ladies and gentlemen—I give you The Hohenheim Institute!"  
Edward Elric just buried his face in his hands and not even his brother could comfort him.  
#####  
"All I can say is….wow. If that's what he does to dudes, I'd hate to see what he'd do to my girlfriend. Bet he'd eat her pussy inside out. And I'd never see her again."  
The sheaf of prints was crisp and fresh from the dryer. Copies for the files and copies for the wire service. Some of 'em—the best ones—were too hot to make it past the editors. Those Archer would keep for his private collection. "Y'know…with all those stories you heard about Mustang back East and at Central…all the chicks he allegedly banged into oblivion…ain't no paternity suits out there. And none o' the chicks is talkin'. Not to mention he didn't have any of 'em around for long."  
"Yeah, now that you mention it. And didn't a lot of those broads turn out to work for the Old Cunt?"  
"Uh huh. Protecting her little faggot. No tellin' how many dicks she sucked—or shot off—to keep his name clean. Heard she and Ol' Groping Grumman were asshole buddies."  
Archer nodded coolly. "Still are. So watch your asses around Chris Mustang. She's one hell of a dangerous broad. Bet she'd just love to have that candy-assed blonde as her son-in-law. Looks like Roy-Boy's been having his fun. He's done everything but suck his initials on Ed's dick. Just look at this, gentlemen!"  
A dozen photographs of Edward Elric in his underwear, his tanned skin generously peppered with love bites from toes to torso to neck. His nipples, belly, inner thighs—all of it, as if some hungry lover had devoured him. "Bet if his wife gave head as well as the Fuhrer he'd still be married."  
"That one? Nice rack, but a gear head. Probably needs something with a kick-start motor and lots of RPM's to get her wet. Ain't a man alive with a tongue that moves like those toys down in Rush Valley." He pulled a new photo out of a manila envelope. "This is pure gold, though."  
It was a hospital bed with one of its steel rails torn off and shredded sheets. "Cum stains and all. And first hand interview with the night duty nurse about who was yelling what name. Yes, boys, " Archer took a deep pull on his cigar and blew a smoke wreath contentedly at the ceiling, "Let's see the Flamer fast talk his way out of this one…"  
#####  
Sebastian had ordered him into a warm bath, stoking the fireplace and laying out a large pot of coffee and a platter of sandwiches and cookies. "I have hot blankets for when you come out, Master Edward," he informed his charge. "You must not catch cold."  
"M'okay" from the bathroom.  
"Better my ministrations than Dr. Knox," the butler added with a smile.  
Ed couldn't argue with that. "Whatever."  
"Oh, and His Excellency is finishing a briefing with Emperor Ling and the Tsar. He will be coming up shortly and will be joining you for a private supper. Is there anything else…?"  
"Fuck off!"  
"Fucking off, sir." Sebastian composed his features into their usual unflappable calm as he closed the doors and left Ed to soak in peace.  
#####  
"I—I miss you."  
That was all he had to say. She curled herself into a knot of misery around the phone and sobbed.  
"I do…it's just that…" He swallowed hard and grappled with his love for her and his loyalty to his brother. "You…maybe you both need to…you know…grow up some. Maybe Rush Valley will be a great place for Maes and Nina….I don't know. Did you find someone nice to be their nanny yet?"  
"…no…" She sounded very small, like a kitten in the rain. "I…I don't know what to do, Al…"  
"I could help you," he offered. "I could find someone here in Central, and maybe see if they'd move to—"  
"…I'll manage…"  
Her voice sounded so bleak, so helpless. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and rock her, make her feel safe, make her feel worthy and loved again. To give her the comfort she craved—the comfort Ed would never have understood she needed. "Winry…please…please….let me help you. Ed doesn't have to know. And if you're not together anymore, then," he took a deep breath, "as long as Maes and Nina are all right, it's none of his business. Okay?"  
"….okay…"  
His hand shook as he hung up the phone. He lifted the receiver and began to dial frantically. "Please be home….please…please…"  
#####  
If he ran from Winry, as he frequently did, there were curses chasing behind and at every civilized turn of the road, if he dared to call, there were the Endless Questions:  
When are you coming back?  
Damn you, every time I try to tell you how I feel you just run off…  
You don't even give a damn about your own children…  
I WAITED for you….the very least you could do is…  
He tried to run from Roy. Roy gave him a warm coat, dry socks, a wallet—to his surprise it had over a thousand cens in it—a packet of sandwiches and about a week's worth of K-rations and water purification tablets, neatly stashed in a deep inner pocket. A small notebook with phone numbers and several pens. Coins for pay phones. And something else—a tiny hunk of bent steel that he detached from the bed rail Edward had broken with his automail foot the first time they made love.  
Run if you have to, if you need to, Roy was telling him without words.  
You are restless. You despise being tied down to anything or anyone.  
Run from me—and I will live my life for Amestris, just as I have always done.   
Try to forget me if you can…I will not forget you.   
Roy set him free.  
And that also meant he was free to run back….if he chose.  
"Wherever you go…remember this."  
Flickers of amber light and the scent of wood smoke and cinders. Taste of seed and sweat and tears on his tongue—taste of Roy. His legs twined around lean hips that rocked with maddening slowness…in…ahh, godddd!….and out….yesssroy…don't…d-don'tstopPLEASEdon't…. Savor it…inch by inch…"Do you trust me?" 'You know I do."  
"Then…let go."  
And he slowly bent backwards, easing, trusting…holding his breath…until all that held him were the driving hips locked in the tight circle of his legs and the living steel that anchored him, heart to heart, from deep inside his body…and those strong, scarred hands that clasps his own, letting him fall back to the length of their outstretched arms, his body arching up into a perfect bow, taut and beautiful and glistening with sweat, his unbound hair spilling across the rug at Roy's feet.  
His blood was pounding in his ears, his eyes could only see the heart of the blaze that warmed him. Fire before his eyes. Fire churning inside him. Fire in the heart of the man set him loose—from the past, from Winry—even from Roy himself. A man that loved him so profoundly that he not only refused to bind Ed, he gave him wings of fire and love to speed him on his way—knowing in his heart that Edward would always find his way home again.  
He was sobbing and it didn't matter. He was surrounded by fire, consumed and deconstructed and it felt for all the world like he was falling through the Gateway—but the only Truth that waited for him was the one he'd held back for fear of…for fear of being trapped again.  
But the traps were sprung, Roy had torn their rusty jaws apart and set him free at last and the words came out with the rush of seed and ecstasy…  
"I…love…"  
And his body was jerked forward and his mouth was devoured and the last words were lost in a tangle of tongues and indistinct cries of pleasure. They shuddered together, heat spreading inside his body and Roy rubbed his chest against Edward's, the pearly trails of semen melting into his heated skin, its scent and those words marking him as owned, marking him as Edward's—as nobody else had claimed Roy before.  
Not even Maes…  
"I wanna come inside you."  
Roy shivered, running his nails lightly along Ed's spine. "If you're sure you're ready." He let go of his lover long enough to lie back on the sofa, eyes heavy-lidded with wanton invitation. "Tell me what you want."  
Ed looked suddenly shy. "I…I saw Hughes. Once. Coming out of the shower. Forgot his robe and didn't know anybody was up." He cleared his throat nervously. "He's…he was…y'know…uhhh…big."  
Roy nodded. "And?"  
"I'm …not,"  
Roy pulled him down and lovingly stroked the softened flesh between them. "It's not the cock," he whispered gently. "It's the heart that matters. And if you feel ready…I want it." His eyes danced mischievously. "Who wants a lover who can't give as good as he gets? Do you want me on my knees, or—"  
"I want you…" he sighed, shaking his head, "when all the bullshit is done. When the book is signed and the gavel comes down and I walk out of the office a free man. I want that to look forward to. Okay?"  
Roy didn't laugh. He settled Edward into the curve of his body and nuzzled his sweaty hair. 'On the day you ask…hold nothing back, Ed. And neither will I."  
#####  
"And in a late breaking story, Fuhrer President Mustang, the Emperor of Xing and the Tsar of Drachma will be addressing the Amestrian Parliament tomorrow morning at noon. It is believed that they will be joined on this occasion with Amestrian Aeronaut Alphonse Elric and former State Alchemist Edward Elric. Details of the address are not available at this time but it has been speculated by insiders that the address is in some way related to President Mustang's recent announcement that the Amestrian State Alchemist program will no longer be used for military purposes. The address will preempt regular scheduled programming on Radio Capital.  
"Thank you—and have a pleasant evening."  
Frank Archer switched off the radio. "Have a pleasant evening, boys. It's the last peaceful night's sleep either one of you is gonna have for a long, long time…"  
….TO BE CONTINUED…


	22. BLACKMAIL, BEDLAM AND THE BEACON OF ALEXANDRIA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy Mustang would have admitted it freely: On the day you plan to change the world you really don't want to get the hell out of bed. The eyes of the known world are watching as a very young Chief of State risks everything to secure a peaceful world for Ed’s children…

HALF LIVES, Chapter 22: BLACKMAIL, BEDLAM AND THE BEACON OF ALEXANDRIA  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010  
Roy Mustang would have admitted it freely: On the day you plan to change the world you really don't want to get the hell out of bed. Not when there was a warm back fitting just so into one's chest and one's half-hard cock was cozily nestled in the heated cleft of his lover's buttocks and whenever Roy tightened his arms there was a low grumble of contentment. A mop of thick gold hair in his face, and a tantalizing bit of exposed neck peeking out above the covers right within tongue's reach. No, Roy would have confessed, better to stay snuggled under the down comforter with the man you love rather than face the flashbulbs and the cameras and the noise and debate of the Parliament on the day you plan to turn four hundred years of Amestrian status quo flat on its ass.  
But get up they did—he was not facing this alone. Ed had agreed to support Project Alexandria and he and Alphonse would stand beside him when all hell broke loose. "Y'know," Ed mumbled around his toothbrush, "I still think you're fuckin' crazy. They'll never buy this, Mustang, and you'll be lucky if you and Ling and the Tsar don't get your asses shot full of holes before you finish your address."  
Roy's razor slid cleanly across a cheek that was thinner than it had been the day he burned his first village in the desert. "Which is why I am thankful there will be a Hawk's eye watching over us all. And if we get through this without a scrape, I'm approving a two week furlough and sending her someplace warm and sunny with lots of half-naked cabana boys and drinks named after sex acts that are still illegal in parts of East Aquroya."  
Claude had laid out their clothes before Sebastian had awakened them with coffee and word that Roy had a nine o'clock phone conference with Prince Claudio of Aerugo, who would be pre-briefed before his subjects heard the live broadcast from Parliament at noon since he would be undoubtedly expected to respond. As for Agios, the Metropolitan of Creta—his response would be anyone's guess. An envoy under the Flag of Parlay had been received safely into the city of Heraklion and a copy of the Alexandrian Project proposal would be formally and respectfully presented, bearing the signatures of Fuhrer President Roy Mustang, Emperor Ling Yao and Tsar Dimitri of Drachma, as well as Colonel Miles on behalf of the Ishbalans. If nothing else, the show of unusual unity would make some sort of impression for better or worse.  
Ed straightened his tie and adjusted his new glasses. "Damn, you look good," Roy told him, one eyebrow lifting in surprise. "Ready to change history?"  
"Every time an Elric changes history he fucks it up." Ed looked worried.  
"You changed history forever on the Promised Day." Roy's eyes were confident and proud. "We did it together then—all of us. And we'll do it again. We'll keep doing it until we've made equivalent exchange for the damage that was done. All right?"  
"….yeah. Let's go."  
#####  
Maxim, Alexi, Pyotir, Dr. Chen and Alphonse looked as impressive as Edward, the three Drachman scholars in their formal black academic dress, Dr. Chen in his brocade robes and Alphonse dashing in his brown Aeronaut uniform, a cream silk scarf around his neck and the green flag of Amestris on his shoulder patches. In his black formal suit, Ed felt under-dressed. "You guys are just showing off," Ed griped.  
They exchanged grins and passed a gift-wrapped bundle to Edward. "Open it, Brother!" Alphonse urged, and when the paper had been torn away and Ed had opened his mouth to curse and protest furiously it was Dr. Chen that silenced the elder Elric with a firm gesture. "Wear this to honor those who went before you. To honor Izumi Curtis, who wept and suffered and bled and sacrificed to teach you."  
Ed shook his head. "And we failed her and she kicked us out."  
Heads pivoted as the door was booted open. Major General Olivier Armstrong stood glaring them from the open doorway, fingering the hilt of her saber with an implied threat that if Edward did not change his coat she would have no qualms about slashing the old one right off his shoulders, hopefully missing his head in the process. "Izumi Curtis is my friend," she barked sharply. "Don't make me dress you by force, little boy."  
Ed's eyes grew wide and he swallowed hard. "Ye-yes, Ma'am!"  
#####  
At the ringing of the session bell, a hush fell over the Amestrian Parliament. His Excellency, Fuhrer Roy Mustang approached the microphone:  
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Parliament—honored guests—members of the press—"he gave a sharp look in the direction of Frank Archer in the front row of the press gallery,"—good citizens of Amestris and Ishbal and our neighbors beyond our borders…I am honored to address you this morning as your President…but more than that, as a fellow citizen who has studied the bloody history of our motherland and has had the honor of helping those who have wanted to rebuild this country and help her meet the challenges of the Twentieth Century as a global partner, not simply as an isolated power entrenched in perpetual conflict with our neighbors on all borders." He glanced at Tsar Dimitri and Ling Yao. They nodded in accord.  
Then a tall man in the robes of a high priest of Ishballah stepped forward to join them, accompanied by Colonel Miles. There was a deep intake of breath as Edward recognized his old nemesis by the x-shaped scar covering his face. He had abandoned his name but not his god and he nodded to his old comrades before turning his stern gaze across the assembly, as if daring anyone to question his right to stand among them. Miles, it was noted, wore the formal dress uniform of newly formed civil service corps called Sevananda, the Ishballan word meaning 'hands of compassion'. Carrying no weapons, the Sevananda had worked side by side with the National Army to bring aid to the returning refugees, in accordance with the Ishballan belief that service to others was a form of service to God.  
Mustang raised his voice above the murmur of the crowd and continued. "On this historic day the nations of Drachma, Ishbal, Xing and Amestris have signed a peace accord in hopes of ending the border skirmishes, cultural oppression and open warfare that has divided us. And as a pledge of that peace, we are in agreement that the surest way to break down these barriers is to embrace one of the greatest traditions of the ancient nation of Xerxes: theCollegium." He bowed and stepped aside as the Emperor of Xing approached the microphone.  
His Celestial Grace, the Emperor of Xing, beamed at the assembled Parliament. "Six centuries ago," he recounted, " in the great capital city of Alexandria, the people of Xerxes and the people of Xing traded freely—not only goods but ideas. The learned folk of the desert lands and the scholars of Xing would meet and talk within the city of Alexandria which stood in the middle of all things in those ancient times. The people of Xerxes saw great merit in this and since they valued learning and scholarship above all other things, their king decreed that a great hall of learning be built—a hall that did not close its doors to those of other lands or conflicting ideas. The king believed that each drop raises the river, and the betterment of each man and woman benefited the world as a whole. The greatest library in human history was erected in the city of Alexandria and soon the wise and learned scientists and alchemists and artisans and craftsmen from far and near journeyed to the Library of Alexandria to exchange ideas and share discoveries together. They built a great center of learning called the Collegium, meaning a place where students and masters could meet to work at common problems and explore new possibilities."  
Tsar Dimitri now came forward. "Even as far as the steppes of the north and the seafarers of Creta, men and women traveled to the far city of Alexandria to teach and to learn and to bring back wisdom and innovation to their homelands. As a result, there were world-wide advances in medicine, science, agriculture, mathematics and engineering. The beacon of the tower of the Alexandrian Collegium and Library brought the continent out of darkness—but one day that light was lost. A nation was destroyed—it's scrolls and books buried under the sands of time. Only fragments of it remained, kept alive by the Great Sage who once wandered to Xing and brought the secrets of Alcahestry and medicine to her people at the Chrysanthemum Palace, and later founded the nation of Amestris. And the flame of Alexandria was kept alive in Drachma's own great city of learning, Stoltovgrad, so far away from the ruins of Xerxes."  
At last, Scar approached the microphone, looking clearly uncomfortable but determined to stand for his own newly-reborn nation. "It is a difficult thing, at times, to find common ground between peoples and races and cultures. But as the events that occurred in Central in recent years have taught us, there is nothing we cannot accomplish if we are willing to stand as brothers. And while we are not facing the threats and dangers of the past, there is much that needs healing between Amestris and her neighbors. President Mustang, like President Grumman before him, has worked tirelessly to make peace a reality. Once upon a time, he was my sworn enemy. I would have killed him with my bare hands and thanked Isballa for the honor." There was a collective gasp of fear from the audience but Roy stepped forward and offered both his hands to Scar in the custom of the tribal people, and they were clasped firmly by the priest. " I have seen how fiercely Roy Mustang loves this country and he has proved with his sweat and his suffering and his honesty that he intends for his presidency to be a dawn of peace for all nations, not just his own. And I believe him."  
Roy took the microphone once more. "To this end, and for the betterment of all nations, on this day the beacon of Alexandria will be lit once more. We who stand in accord this day each pledges to dedicate a National Collegium of Alexandria, where our best and brightest minds can meet and exchange knowledge and carry it to the four corners of this continent. This century began as the Age of War. It will close as the Age of Enlightenment. And we extend the hand of friendship to the nation of Aerugo and Creta, and it is our greatest hope that they will stand side by side with us in this new age of discovery.  
"In the ancient city of Nanjing, we light the beacon at The Chrysanthemum Palace. Dr. Kenichi Chen, will you and Master May Chang accept the leadership of this school?  
Dr. Chen's round face was wreathed in smiles. "On behalf of Sensei Chang and myself, I accept with honor." He bowed low and stood beside his emperor.  
Roy turned to the Ishballan delegation "In the newly reborn city of Varanasi in Ishbal—Colonel Miles-will you accept the leadership of the Ishbal Dharmasala?  
"I will." He nodded once, briefly, and turned his impassive face to the crowd again.  
"Stoltovgrad University is one of the oldest and most respected institutions of higher learning in this continent. Maxim Petrovsky, Alexi Andreivitch, and Pyotir Gagarin—will you guide Stoltovgrad into the 20th Century as part of the Alexandria Collegium?  
The Drachman trio was grinning so eagerly that the audience chuckled over such youthful enthusiasm. "Ve are honored dot you vould ask us," Pyotir answered in his halting Amestrian. "Ve are wery, wery pleased dot you have honored Stoltovgrad in dis manner, und ve vill give the students and wisitors a wery varm velcome in Drachma!"  
Finally, Roy turned to the Elric Brothers, both clad in scarlet coats bearing the black Flamel Cross that honored their alchemic lineage as pupils of Izumi Curtis. "Edward Elric…Alphonse Elric…there are no more qualified hands to entrust a Collegium named in honor of your father. Amestris has asked so much of you—and I am not ashamed to ask more, on behalf our motherland and for the sake of peace. Will you share the burdens and the responsibility of making The Hohenheim Institute a reality in Amestris?"  
If there had been a smirk—even the faintest trace of smugness in Roy's demeanor, Edward would have stalked off without a word. But Mustang's face held the same clarity and determination as it had the day they defeated Father in a battle so horrible that the people of Amestris would never be able to bear the truth, even if they had been told the whole story.  
Alphonse looked to his brother. "Well?"  
Edward thought about it for a moment. Then he sighed and shrugged, smiling a little.  
"Okay…what the hell."  
Then he cocked one blonde eyebrow and whispered under his breath to his little brother, "Next time you call my ex behind my back, you jerk, you can tell her I have a steady job now, so no bullshit about me not making child support, okay?"  
Al gulped nervously. "B-brother, I—"  
"Shut up, Al, before I beat the snot out of you over live radio." He was annoyed but not as furious as Al thought he would be—as if he had expected something like this to happen. "Just…shut the fuck up and we'll talk about this later. Right now we got worse shit to worry about…"  
Amid the pandemonium that followed, Roy announced that there would be a recess of Parliament for thirty minutes, after which he would provide a full hour for questioning live on Radio Capital, "—if your general manager doesn't object to interrupting further programming for breaking news, Mister Archer? I generally wouldn't dream of depriving your listeners today's Midday Amestris….and for the record I called Gracia Hughes personally and she had no objection giving up Crafty People today, so long as I promise to let her daughter come over and have a tea party in the Grand Ballroom—to which I have agreed. So," he raised his voice a fraction louder, "We are adjourned. We shall reconvene at 12:55pm. Thank you, Amestris."  
#####  
Back in the Presidential office, Roy Mustang's expression was as cool as ever. Only those who had known him for years detected the odd tightness in his voice that betrayed his cold fury. "All right, people—we have exactly 29 minutes." He slapped a stack of explicit photos on his desk. "These were hand delivered to me by a Radio Capital courier five minutes before my speech. We're past the point of secrets here—and since I've been informed copies have been sent out on the wire service for the Central Times and half the known world's papers, there's no point in hiding them."  
"Chërt voz'mí!" Maxim whispered.  
Dr. Chen's dark brows shifted upward a fraction. Miles frowned and Scar looked disgusted. Ling Yao and Dimitri exchanged knowing looks. "Surely you are not a stranger to blackmail attempts by now, Tovarich?" The Tsar accepted a cup of tea from Alphonse with a nod of thanks. "I have read your intelligence dossiers from many years before. In your days as a young officer, you were never known to be a man of…shall we say…small appetites?"  
"I have a harem," Ling grinned. "Doesn't presently have any males, but I'm still young, so…."  
Edward's jaw dropped in horror. "What…the…FUCK?"  
Edward in his underwear, covered with love bites—"hey, where the HELL did they take that?"-a wrecked hospital bed with shredded, stained sheets and a gay sex novel half peeking out from under the pillow. Roy and Ed kissing tenderly in the snow. And most damning of all, a full frontal picture of the former Fullmetal Alchemist and the Fuhrer of Amestris asleep on the couch, with the Fuhrer's hand on the younger man's erect cock. "That," Roy growled, "was taken last night—in the privacy of our bedroom. I want to know who. I want to know how. And I want to know in fifteen minutes. Now," he poured himself a cup of coffee and ruffled his fringe. "GET MOVING."  
#####  
There was always something oddly feline about the palace butler. Dog lover that she was, Riza Hawkeye was somewhat less than fond of Sebastian. That changed abruptly when 'the cat' presented her with the "mole" he had caught.  
The mole was seated at the kitchen table, calmly sipping tea. The polished handle of a sterling silver carving fork protruded from the back of his hand, its tines buried deep into the table top.  
"Points for ingenuity. I would have used handcuffs," Riza informed him as she called for backup.  
"I thought it best to catch the culprit off guard. I was polishing His Excellency's silver when he sat down for a cup of tea, so…."  
The mole seemed unconcerned about the blood oozing all over the tablecloth. Hawkeye nodded. She tugged her short list out pocket and showed it to Sebastian who nodded briskly. "We are in accord. I was simply looking for proof. That proof was handed to me by a Mr. Archer, who was quite insistent that it was to my personal advantage to cooperate with his attempts to discredit Fuhrer. All I had to do was look at the photographs of Master Edward taken when he was in the dressing room at the tailor shop days ago to know who was guilty."  
Sebastian removed a copy of the offensive photograph from within his waistcoat. "Just look at that, Colonel Hawkeye—there is an uneven crease ironed into Master Edward's undershorts!" He tossed the photograph onto the table as if it soiled his gloves to touch it. He cast a severe frown towards Claude, who was being read his rights by Colonel Hawkeye. "And you call yourself a valet?"  
#####  
Tsar Dimitri glanced at his pocket watch. "Twelve minutes, fifty-seven seconds. Quite impressive, Tovarich. I should have your palace security come and train my own. They seem to have extraordinary motivation when it comes to your protection."  
"I would lay down my life for them. They know it. And they would do the same for me. That's how things are done in this administration."  
"But-but I thought Claude was Black Ops security!" Ed blurted out. "  
"Yes….with family in Creta. Apparently Frank Archer got wind of that when drinking with some intelligence officers-who will benefit greatly from their new posting in Brigg's Mountain,"  
Alphonse looked worried. "Sir, even though you caught Claude, those pictures are still out there, and Frank Archer is going to drag you and Brother through the mud. Those pictures are going to make the papers, and—"  
"Alphonse, don't be naïve. Do you really expect your brother's private parts to be plastered over every front page in this country? Still…"  
Roy turned slowly to Edward. "This means we are out. You and I both know the implications. Politically it should come as no surprise to anyone who investigated my cadet record in the Academy. I was accused of being in a compromising relationship with a fellow cadet but was cleared of all charges. Otherwise the cadet in question would never have been accepted into Military Intelligence."  
The implication of that statement silenced any remarks that might have followed that disclosure. "It was another blackmail attempt, on the part of Zolf Kimblee, the Crimson Alchemist. His first, I believe. Certainly not his last. But, as I was saying, Edward, it means that there is photographic evidence that you and I have an intimate relationship. If," and his voice sounded weary now, "you feel the need to distance yourself from me in view of your current divorce case—"  
"Bullshit."  
"I beg your pardon?"  
Edward raised his voice angrily. "I said, BULL…SHIT. I'm separated from my wife. My divorce decree will be issued next week at the Magistrate's office—"  
"—and you have two young children. If the Magistrate deems that you are not of…what's the phrase they use in those parts? Not of good moral character. That's it. Yes….if the Magistrate makes the decision that you aren't morally fit to be a parent you will lose any joint custody rights for Maes and Nina. Edward," his voice became very soft and concerned, "you can't risk your relationship with your children over me. If you leave now—"  
"—if I leave now, that tells the world what—that a man who loves another man isn't fit to be a father? That's a fuckin' load of crap and you know it! Those pictures were taken by somebody violating our privacy—and after I beat the shit out of him, I'm gonna face down that Archer prick and tell him that who I love and who I sleep with has no goddamn bearing on whether or not I can provide for my kids or give them a safe, loving home when they visit. That BASTARD is not going to chase me out of your life, so forget about it! And," he folded his arms stubbornly as if defying Roy or anyone else to contradict him, "when you meet with that Archer son of a bitch, I'm goin' with you."  
Roy was silent for a moment. "All right," he answered cautiously. "But what about Winry?"  
Edward turned his eyes to his brother. "Tell you what, Al," he said with soft irony, 'I'll face the press and the rest of the world. You deal with my ex. That's what you're best at, isn't it?"  
#####  
"Granny? It's me."  
Pinako grinned. "Big day for your boyfriend, Ed."  
Ed's cheeks flushed. "Yeah…guess so. Can you talk?"  
'You think I'm so decrepit that all I can do is drool on my apron?" She puffed out a wreath of smoke and glanced around. "Or do you really want to know if Winry's around and can we talk in private?"  
'Right, sorry. And…yeah. Al's gonna call her later."  
"Al?"  
"Yeah. You know. My idiot kid brother who's in love with my ex wife and has conviently forgotten all the times she clobbered him too."  
Pinako's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Come to think about it, Winry had stopped crying all the time and seemed eager and attentive whenever Pinako pointed out news stories about the Amestrian Aeronaut. 'I had a hunch things something was up there—at least on Winry's side. She really doesn't need to be getting all worked up over him. She needs to focus on the kids and getting her new life together in Rush Valley. She has no idea how lenient Garfiel was with her as an apprentice. If she'd run off on me and I was training her, I'd have booted her right out and never let her back, that's for sure."  
"I'm stayin' out of that crap," Ed stated flatly. "But listen, Granny. Did you hear Mustang on the radio with the Tsar and Ling and Scar and all that stuff about the Collegium of Alexandria?"  
"I did. Think they've got room for an old lady on the faculty to teach automail engineering?"  
Gold eyes grew wide. "You serious?"  
"Damn right I am. Figure I could manage to teach a semester a year. We're light years away from any technology outside this country. When you want me up there?"  
"Soon as we work out the curriculum. We can work out the details and you can move in with me. I'm gonna have my own apartments at the Institute, so Maes and Nina will have a real home when they visit."  
"Which means that if they aren't around, I've got the place to myself, is that what you're saying?" Pinako chuckled wickedly. "Can't imagine you staying much in your flat when Roy's in town."  
"Yeah….right about that." Ed smiled at the thought. It would be perfect, now that he thought about it. His own place-he could come and go as he pleased, sharing the load with Alphonse and the Board of Governors, both brothers free to travel part of the year—and Granny and the kids could stay there when they visited….and Roy would only be a brisk walk away. "Yeah. I was pissed about it at first…but I think it's gonna be all right. But…Granny, something's come up that's not all right. That Frank Archer bastard-"  
Granny bit down on her pipe stem. "I'd love to get my hands on him for making a fool out of my granddaughter. And you, although you do a fine job of that all by yourself."  
"Yeah, well…looks like it's gonna be worse. He had the goods on one of our bodyguards. Guy named Claude. S'posed to be the valet, only he had family in Creta. Archer found out and blackmailed him. Threatened to expose him as a double agent—and for Cretans that means you gotta take the Black Capsule or fall on your sword or some bullcrap like that. So he took a bunch of private pictures of me and Roy when he was coming into our suite to lay out our clothing. Even took shots of me in my boxers in the dressing room of the tailor's shop downtown. Anyway…the fucker is about to lower the boom on Roy in about fifteen minutes on Radio Capital. He's gonna out Roy…and I've decided that if he's gonna go after my…after Roy…I'm gonna be right there and face the music."  
Pinako nodded. "Wouldn't expect you to do anything less. And you're worried that Winry will want to use it in court, right?"  
A heavy sigh. "Yeah…I mean, can you blame her? Even if they crop that picture of me and Roy asleep on the couch…it's still pretty….you know…"  
"No. I don't know—and I'd rather not imagine. But it's not like you were being blatant about it. I'll…see what I can do."  
"Thanks, Granny. You're the best."  
There was a long pause. "Ed…I hope to hell you know what you're getting yourself into, getting involved with the President and running in those circles. One day you're gonna find that it's more than you can stand…and you'll run from Roy just like you ran from Winry."  
Ed smiled into the receiver. He'd already run…and learned that sometimes…just sometimes….if your lover gave you enough wing room…you could fly away and circle back home again. "We'll see….thanks, Granny. Hug the kids for me."  
#####  
"Cue music!"  
"Levels good on the mics—going live in three…two…"  
"Welcome back to our special edition of Midday Amestris! I'm Donnel Samuelson, and if you've been listening to our broadcast this morning you've all heard the historic announcement by Fuhrer Mustang about the peace accord he has signed with Drachma, Xing and Ishbal—and the formation of 'collegiums' for the international study of science and alchemy. Here in Central City, we understand that what is currently the Presidential Palace—once the childhood home of General Olivier Armstrong and her brother Alex—will be converted into the Hohenheim Institute for International Studies. We will be going live to the Amestrian Parliament for a live interview with Fuhrer Mustang himself. Our own Frank Archer will be getting the deep scoop on this history-making event—and in addition, he is expected to address certain stories that are surfacing today regarding the Fuhrer's own private life—and that he may be named as a correspondent in the Edward Elric divorce scandal. Hello, Frank? Can you hear me?"  
"Loud and clear, Donnel! And as you've just stated, in addition to the controversial new attempts to share Amestris' technology with enemy countries, Roy Mustang is making the news with the release to the wire services of very explicit photographs of the Fuhrer engaged in intimate acts with the former Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric. Rumors regarding Mustang's private life have abounded since a little-known-of scandal in his cadet days right up into the present day. Which begs the question—Does Mustang have the moral authority to presume to lead this country into a so called Age of Enlightenment? Or will this latest attempt by the Post-Bradley administration simply make Amestris look weak and vulnerable in the eyes of hostile countries?  
"All these questions will be addressed in this special edition of Midday Amestris—Live from Parliament, right after these words from our sponsors…"  
….. TO BE CONTINUED….


	23. "...WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom of the press is a two-edged sword. Frank Archer may be broadcasting his view of the truth, but when he crosses the line one time too many the listeners from up north--Major General Armstrong and the men from Brigg's Mountain, to be precise--give Radio Capital some listener feedback they'll never forget...

HALF LIVES CHAPTER 23:"We Interrupt This Broadcast…"  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

 

"…Rumors regarding Mustang's private life have abounded since a little-known-of scandal in his cadet days right up into the present day. Which begs the question—Does Mustang have the moral authority to presume to lead this country into a so called Age of Enlightenment? Or will this latest attempt by the Post-Bradley administration simply make Amestris look weak and vulnerable in the eyes of hostile countries?  
"All these questions will be addressed in this special edition of Midday Amestris—Live from Parliament, right after these words from our sponsors…"  
Alphonse Elric picked up a fine porcelain tea cup and crushed it like an eggshell. He blinked in surprise at his own fury, and then looked to his friends for support. To Hawkeye for support, because even when the world blew up around her the Colonel kept a cool head—unless the Fuhrer was at risk. She'd learned over the years to control that overwhelming urge to overprotect—but right now Al desperately needed to protect Edward as much as Hawkeye instinctively protected Roy.  
"What….what can we do to stop this?" he demanded helplessly. "Th-those..I mean…FUCK!"  
Colonel Hawkeye switched off the radio. Then she sternly addressed the young Aeronaut.  
"Is it truth?"  
Alphonse looked as if he hadn't really heard her. "Huh?"  
Cognac eyes regarded him closely. "I said 'is it truth?' Do you really believe, after all you've seen, that a gossip monger could take down a man like Roy Mustang? Be serious, Alphonse."  
Ling and Dimitri smiled and nodded to one another as if they were sharing a private joke. Havoc lipped his cigarette and grinned.  
High color rose in Al's cheeks. Didn't they understand? Hadn't they heard a word Archer and Donnelson had said over the airwaves?  
"Tha-that…BULLSHIT…about Roy's 'moral authority'—the pictures…this could tear the whole country apart—"  
"Nyet." Tsar Dimitri rose and clapped the younger Elric on the shoulder. "In my country we have a saying, Tovarich: 'dogs bark, but the caravan passes on' ." Ling nodded sagely in agreement. "My informants are extraordinary by any comparison. Did you not think I knew about your President's tastes and preferences before I came here? So," he laced his fingers jovially across the expanse of his belly and smiled, "this Roy Mustang had a male lover at the Academy in his youth. The lover chose to marry a woman and father a child and made much of trying to persuade Mustang to do the same-only Mustang did not bind himself to any one woman and when his…best friend…was murdered he went into a deep fit of drinking and depression and searched relentlessly for his lover's murderer. Presumably he found and killed him?—I thought he would.  
"Then he sets about staging a coup against government corruption. Once the Bradley regime is overthrown, he hides in the desert to cleanse himself of his sins, making so many widows and orphans in Ishbal. And when Old Grumman retires, the hero returns from the land of sand to take his natural place as leader-but oh—there's more, my young friend! Now that he is beyond reproach and holds the catbird seat and wishes to make good on his promises to bring a new renaissance to Amestris…and in the midst of all this he falls in love with your brother." The Tsar made a playful tisking sound. "So Edward has an unsatisfying marriage? Then let it fall. He will deal fairly and provide for his children. And if he is brave enough-" Alphonse bristled visibly at these words—"da—if he is brave enough, he and Mustang will stand together. The Alexandria Project will open doors between hostile nations. We may all benefit. We may all die, my son—but is it better to cling to that which fails us in the past—or to risk embracing the future?"  
The Tsar rose and clapped Alphonse on the shoulder. "Stand at ease, boy. Let this precious brother of yours and our esteemed Tovarich Mustang ignore these fools. He is a strong one, this Fuhrer of yours, and sly as a fox in winter. The hunt is on—let's see him outwit the hounds. It shall be most interesting!"  
#####  
"Ed…I hope to hell you know what you're getting yourself into, getting involved with the President and running in those circles. One day you're gonna find that it's more than you can stand…and you'll run from Roy just like you ran from Winry."  
Ed smiled into the receiver. He'd already run…and learned that sometimes…just sometimes….if your lover gave you enough wing room…you could fly away and circle back home again. "We'll see….thanks, Granny. Gotta go. That jerkass Archer is wating for Roy—and I'm gonna be right there with him. Hug the kids for me."  
#####  
"Cue Archer!"  
"Levels good on the mics—going live in three…two…"  
Bzzzzkkk….click!  
"HEY! Donnel—what's up with the feed?"  
From his headset, all Donnel Samuelson could hear was a loud humming noise. .  
#####  
Since her arts and crafts segment had been pre-empted by the all important address and news conference with Roy, Gracia sat back in her craft shop and lingered over a cup of fragrant Xingese tea. Alicia was in school and the shop always closed from noon to two so that Gracia had time to do her daily segment on Midday Amestris. It was lovely to sit in her tiny private office and relax over tea and scones while listening to the broadcast. It was an exciting time to be alive, what with Roy working so hard to bring the peace he had promised. "Oh Maes," she sighed aloud, "if only you were here to see this! You'd be so proud of your friend. And to think—some day maybe our daughter will want to go and study at the Institute! Wouldn't that be wonderful, honey? Oh, and here's Mr. Archer with Roy's interview. I'm sure you can hear it loud and clear from where you are, darling-"  
" Rumors regarding Mustang's private life have abounded since a little-known-of scandal in his cadet days right up into the present day…"  
A thin trickle of warm tea spread out over the crocheted doily covering her tea table. It would leave a stain. Idly she thought that might be a useful segment to write for next week. She grabbed a pen, rummaged for a sheet of paper and began making lists. Didn't she need to buy groceries? "Jam…why are we always running out of jam? And pork roast. That would be nice. Maes always liked pork roast. And I ought to get some ginger biscuits—oh, and lavatory paper…"  
She forced herself to think about ginger biscuits and scrubbing powder and new canning jars although it was the dead of winter and she wouldn't start canning until the summer vegetables were at the market. It took an effort, but she kept her mind occupied until the horrible pain in her stomach went away—the pain that gnawed at her insides whenever she thought about Roy and Maes at the Academy.  
Together.  
She never asked. Maes never volunteered. And he was a good husband. The best husband ever. And when that husband was laid in the ground Roy Mustang had not set foot on her doorstep—not once, not even for coffee. Once she'd overheard Frank Archer call the Fuhrer 'the other Widow Hughes'. Since then, she'd learned that if she just kept her mind occupied, focused on Alicia or the show or the grime on the bathroom tiles or the dust on Mae's medals…if she could do that, she could keep the bile from rising to her throat at the thought of Maes' thick, beautiful cock plunging into…  
"Jam…" she muttered, as she snapped off the radio and mopped up the puddle on the tea table. "Why are we always running out of jam?"  
#####  
"….Parliament for a live interview with Fuhrer Mustang himself. Our own Frank Archer will be getting the deep scoop on this history-making event—"  
Winry had been smearing peanut butter on a thick slab of bread for Mae's lunch, half listening to the Presidential address. Everybody else from the shop had gathered around the radio to hear Fuhrer Mustang's startling proposal to Amestris—no, to the world.  
She glanced down at her son, hugging his stuffed kitty and grinning hugely from her foreman's knee. The smiths that worked part time at Rockbell's were always so good with the kids, always eager to babysit while she tended to her own orders. Maes was such a bright boy, bright as an Elric should be. "Hey, Miss Winry! Bet your kids'll get to go to that Institute, huh? Sure smart enough."  
She smiled to herself. "We'll see. Maybe they'll want to apprentice at Rush Valley instead. Where's Nina?"  
"Miz Pinako put her down for a nap. She's back in her crib."  
Safe and out of mischief, Winry thought with relief. Now that she was toddling she was starting to get into everything, worse than Maes had been. At least she felt better about getting child care. Al would find someone. Al would take care of everything. She glanced shyly up at the newspaper clipping she had pinned to the wall of Al looking so splendid and handsome in his flying leathers and scarf…  
"—and in addition, he is expected to address certain stories that are surfacing today regarding the Fuhrer's own private life—and that he may be named as a correspondent in the Edward Elric divorce scandal. Hello, Frank? Can you hear me?"  
"Daddy?" Maes jerked his small head around at the mention of his father's name. "Daddy on talky box?"  
All the men were suddenly staring at Winry. "What was that?" one of them asked. "Mustang and…what's he got to do with your divorce?"  
The foreman scratched his head. "Archer just said Mustang was a correspondent in Ed's divorce!"  
"That's ridiculous!" an older fellow scoffed over his coffee. "Miss Winry would never fool around on Ed—'specially with the Pres—"  
The foreman punched him sharply in the shoulder, "Shaddap, fool!"  
As the smiths made their mental calculations, one by one they nervously muttered their thanks for the coffee, touched their caps to her and went back to work. She was left with peanut butter on her fingers, a son who was calling for his daddy…and an overwhelming urge to take the jelly covered knife in her hand and plunge in straight into her ex-husband's heart.  
#####  
"Frank—can you hear us?"  
There was nothing but a sibilant hiss from the live broadcast feed from the Parliament chamber. Donnel Samuelson cleared his throat nervously and leaned into the microphone. "Ladies and Gentlemen—sorry. Looks like we've run into some technical difficulties with the feed from Parliament. We'll have that interview with Fuhrer Mustang shortly—in the meantime, " he gestured frantically to his co-host to stall for time, "Elinor, tell us more about this week's great specials on sundaes at the Funny Bear Ice Cream Shoppe?"  
Elinor swore under her breath and stubbed out her cigarette. She cast her co-host a poisonous glare and mouthed the words "fix it!" before adjusting her earphones and making her voice as saccharine-sweet as possible. "Yes, friends—it may be snowing outside, but come inside and warm up with our Hot Fudge Sundaes at Funny Bear—"  
Donnel snatched the phone off the hook and dialed the remote line. "All right, damn it—what's the hold up? The feeds gone dead. What? Well, go find out! Tell Archer to stay put—you say he's got Mustang AND Fullmetal in there? Great. Tell 'em not to budge. I'll keep Elinor on the air until I get your signal for go-ahead…."  
#####  
Frank Archer began to sweat. He could feel his deodorant melting in his armpits. Mustang sat there so—so goddamned cool and relaxed, legs crossed, sipping his coffee and talking alchemic theory with that—that—former runt that he was sleeping with. He had the goods on Mustang, was ready to tell the world…and then the live radio feed cracked and died seconds before air time.  
"All right," he growled. "I don't know how you managed it, but my network feed is down. And don't look so goddamned innocent. You don't know the media, boys. We can make you, we can break you. We broke Grumman over that sex scandal. And you saw the pictures of you playing with Elric's dick—"  
"—which proves your mole was obviously using a cheap camera or the frame would have been in better focus." Edward grinned maliciously.  
"Still, it's a very nice picture of Edward," Roy purred. "We're thinking of mailing them out as Solstice cards this year. I'm sure you won't quibble over copyrights. We were trying to come up with a clever caption for the inside of the card—like 'Sleep With A Heavenly Piece"—"  
Ed raised his hand. "That was Roy's idea. I was thinking of maybe 'I'll Be Homo For Solstice'"  
"Your brother rather liked 'Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen'. Subtle. Very nice touch, I think, and in keeping with the season."  
"If you leave your address with Sheska we'll make sure you're added to the Solstice Card list for this year."  
"What-the-fuck-did-you-do-to-my-signal?"  
Edward and Roy exchanged calm smiles. Then Roy rose and slapped Archer on the shoulder. "C'mon, Frank…you think I've got the whole world on strings? Now then," he leaned in and his voice was very soft, "while we're waiting for Radio Central to fix their little technical difficulties….let's discuss…oh, I don't know…Ed? Pick a topic."  
"Love to." He pulled his chair up close until he was nose to nose with his nemesis. "Let's talk about freedom of the press."  
A dark head popped around the door. A gloved hand gestured for assistance. "Sebastian? A bucket of ice and some tea towels…and an asprin. Mr. Archer is going to need them when he wakes up."  
"If he wakes up," Ed added smugly.  
#####  
The Radio Central field technician drove up to where the remote feed cables were draped across the snowy back courtyard of the Parliament building. "HEY! You in the truck! You're parked on the feed for our broadcast remote!"  
The driver ignored them. The technician stomped through the snow, swearing loudly and beat angrily on the hood of the military transport. "Are you deaf in there? Move your goddamn truck, or I'll…"  
The door swung open. The tailgate dropped down. Two dozen of the biggest soldiers—with the wildest hair he'd ever seen—jumped into the snow and surrounded him. All of them looked capable of bench pressing an Armstrong.  
Then their leader climbed out from behind the wheel. He was barely five feet tall, bespectacled and had a pair of insulated wire cutters concealed in his breast pocket. He nodded. The behemoths saluted.  
The technician was escorted to his vehicle. The vehicle was then lifted on the brawny shoulders of Brigg's finest and carried down the hill, as the technican yelled in protest.  
General Armstrong marched out the back door. Kain Fuery saluted. "Can you fix that?" she demanded, pointing to the tangled mess of wire that had been shredded by the rear tires of the Brigg's transport truck.  
"Eventually, Ma'am!"  
"Carry on, Soldier."  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…


	24. THE RIGHT WAY, THE WRONG WAY AND THE MUSTANG WAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madame Christmas Mustang didn't get to be the age she is by being subtle...and while Roy may be the Master Manipulator, Aunt Chris prefers a slightly more DIRECT approach to dealing with her enemies...especially those who are targeting her 'Roy-Boy'....

HALF LIVES CHAPTER 24: THE RIGHT WAY, THE WRONG WAY AND THE MUSTANG WAY  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010  
She'd been waiting for this day. It was as inevitable, she told him, as stink on shit.  
"You rise to the top, Roy-Boy, and they're gonna do their goddamnest to cut you down. That's the day you have to prepare for. Military and polite society be damned. There' s the right way, the wrong way…and then there's the Mustang Way. Eyes open. Mouth shut.  
"You know what a mustang is, don't you, boy? It's a wild horse of the western grasslands. Finest horses in the world—but damn near impossible to tame. Sometimes they'll come to accept a rider out of trust and love but fuck help you if you try to rope one and put him in a stable if he doesn't want to go. Oh, he might walk calmly into his stall. He'll eat his oats and let you brush him and eat sugar from your hand….right up until the day he sees that you left the stable door ajar. Then he'll rear up, bring his hooves down on your head, trample your body and leave your corpse in a cloud of dust. Smarter than most humans by a damn sight.  
"That's the Mustang Way, boy. You play along. You say yessir and salute and wear your pretty uniform. You keep that face as cool and bland as you can. You never—never let them know what's on your mind, or what cards you're holding. And you wait, damn it. Maybe for years or decades. You bide your goddamn time. And then you seize your moment and you run like the wind and leave the bastards in the dirt with hoof marks on their foreheads. You understand me?"  
"Yes Aunt Chris."  
She patted him on the head. "Good. Now make me proud of you, kid."  
Yes, she'd been waiting…biding her time since Roy made it to the top. Sooner or later some asswipe was going to bring up Roy's past. They'd find out about that report Zolf Kimblee had filed at the academy when Roy was seventeen and in officer's candidate school while studying for the State Alchemy exam , which he would take at eighteen….  
Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes had been reported for suspected misconduct of a sexual nature. Both boys denied it and the charge was withdrawn after Kimblee himself became the focus of an investigation of harassment of underclassmen. Kimblee was disciplined and bore a lifelong grudge against both Hughes and Mustang, believing—and rightly so—that Roy had had a hand in exposing Kimblee's intimidation tactics, Roy had subtly manipulated other people into coming forward while keeping coolly in the background. In the end, the Mustang Way worked. Kimblee did not rise beyond the rank of Major granted to a State Alchemist, the bullying stopped, and Roy and Maes remained lovers until they were separated at the front years later.  
Now, once again, the bastards were interfering with Roy's love life. Frank Archer was no Kimblee. Kimblee was a dangerous psychopath, where as Archer was just a nasty piece of work who used the power of the Fifth Estate to uproot the status quo for the fun of it. He was, she decided, like a smear of dog shit on a fine pair of shoes. He needed to be wiped off and flushed down the crapper…and she was just the one to do it.  
After all, she and Grumman had had some fine old times together, in and out of bed. When Archer caught wind of Grumman's penchant for fondling female buttocks he brewed the hearsay into a potent venom that painted him as a molester and hastened that good man's day of retirement. "Bugger him," Grumman declared. "And bugger this job. I'm going fishing. Let young Mustang kick his teeth in."  
As soon as she'd heard those words, Christmas Mustang went to work—and never told her boy what she was up to.  
Archer, like many men who aspired to fame and credibility, had his own private life kept well out of the spotlight. Ambitious men who craved power often sought unique perversions, like the priest of Leto who wanted to have his bottom whipped by whores dressed as the Little Sisters of the Sun God, or the General who relished having a rent boy dress up as an interrogator and cuff him and tickle his testicles with sharp objects while screaming at him to obey or die. It was always the shadow side, like her Roy yielding to the strength of Maes Hughes, letting those huge hands mould and shape his body until Roy was pliant and down on his knees, begging to be ridden until he ached. And, in fascinating contrast, Roy was now urging his new lover to surrender to his own sensuality—giving Edward back the manhood he had lost by helping Ed discover his own capacity for wantonness and erotic play as well as tenderness and genuine affection, freely given and joyfully accepted.  
Archer, though…now that was an interesting case.  
He liked 'em young. Not too young…but anything over twenty took the starch right out of his pecker. And he liked them in twos and threes.  
And he liked girls who liked toys. The Rush Valley kind of toys. The kind she imagined Winry Rockbell had clocked her husband in the head with. The kind that squirmed and rotated.  
Her restaurant had the best steaks in town—but that wasn't the only thing on the menu IF you knew what to ask for—and how to pay.  
Roy and Edward had learned about the private dining rooms that night they danced sweetly together by the warm glow of the jukebox. One key, however, was not the drawer when Edward randomly selected the room for their rendezvous. That key—Room Three—was kept safe in Chris Mustang's pocket.  
Room Three was the Playroom—and it was ornamented by floor-to-ceiling 'pier glass' mirrors. Two-way mirrors. And a photographic darkroom conveniently installed in an unused bathroom on the other side of the wall.  
Frank Archer was a big spender. Frank Archer loved his fine Cretan cigars, fine suits from Aerugo…and lithe little maidens from Xing. His peach blossoms, he called them, ordering them ahead of time like the Emperor himself. Once he got his bevy of nearly-underage blossoms behind closed doors…the lights went up, the toys were strapped on…and the shutter with the close-up lens clicked frame after frame of depravity that was beyond the imagination of the majority of his vapid Midday Amestris audience.  
"Poor kid. Never knew what hit her." That was Chris Mustang's assessment of the awkward interview with Winry Rockbell, stammering nervously as Frank Archer raked her over the coals. "Sly bastard. He's going to go after my boy by going after Edward. Fortunately," she told Grumman over the phone the night of the broadcast, "I've been anticipating this for a long, long time."  
"Oooohhh, you've got pretty pictures of little Frankie at play?" the former Fuhrer whooped joyfully. "Do I get a peek?"  
"I don't think you could stomach it. Not even a dirty old goat like you. "  
There were plenty of prints to share with plenty of people. Things were getting downright vile, what with the bullshit he'd spewed on the radio after Roy's inspiring address. "He's pissing on my son and I won't have it. Time to open up the stable door," she rasped, "and let the Mustangs stampede..."  
"Fuck. I must be losing my touch." Ed stared ruefully at his reddened knuckles. "The only time I miss my damned automail is when I have to deck somebody." He shook his hand and flexed his fingers. "Been awhile since I clocked anybody that hard. Feels good," His grin was toothy and malicious.  
Roy nodded. "I'd rather you not practice on me, if you don't mind. I'll get Sebastian to get us some ice. You realize," he sighed, "he can press charges of assault against you, right?"  
Ed hadn't thought of that. He was used to punching first and asking questions later. "Shit…waitaminute! Get Chen in here!"  
"I beg your pardon?"  
"Chen! Chen!" Ed snapped impatiently. "If he can heal a skull fracture, he can damn well heal a shiner. We just need to keep the fucker out until we think of something…"  
The phone rang. Roy snatched up the receiver. He listened. Then he smirked.  
Ed gave him a suspicious look. "What, damn it?"  
Roy chuckled softly. "There's a right way, a wrong way and a Mustang Way."  
#####  
"What is it, Granny?" Winry mopped the sweat off her forehead and glanced over her shoulder at her grandmother, a dark silhouette in the doorway of the forge, wreathed in a pungent cloud of pipe smoke. It was getting on towards tea time. She hadn't noticed. She'd checked on Nina, settled Maes in his playpen and had gone down to the forge to pound out her frustration on a hunk of steel that wouldn't cry or bleed or sue her for divorce. This whole mess…damn, it had blown so far out of proportion . It was like what should have been a matter settled between her and Edward had been ripped out of their grasp and flung in the public eye like mud splattering everywhere when a motorcar roars through the streets of East City on a rainy afternoon.  
"Save your anger for the one who's done both you and Ed wrong."  
She slumped onto a workbench and sighed heavily, waving away the tea the old woman offered her. "I didn't even listen to the story….did…did you?"  
Pinako placed a plate of fresh baked cookies between them, taking one for herself and biting into it with relish. "Ha! Wasn't any story. Said they'd lost the broadcast feed from Parliament and all we got was that foolish Elinor What's-her-name babbling about hot fudge sundaes and some big sale on rump roast at Central Meat. And since they canceled Mrs. Hughes' craft show they babbled and stalled for time until The Farmer's Almanac Hour came on." She flicked her ashes on the floor, scrubbed them out with the sole of her shoe and nodded smugly. "Sounds like either Mustang's lawyers or Ed's temper must have shut that fool up." Winry just shook her head, too numb and angry to answer. "Winry…do you really think Ed would let anybody humiliate you or this family in public? Do you think he'd do something stupid that would shame you?"  
She didn't look at her Grandmother, just stared into the flames licking the mouth of the forge. "I don't know Ed anymore…I really don't. "  
"Well I do." Pinako rose and stood where Winry's eyes couldn't avoid her. "I raised that boy, same as I raised you. If anybody took pictures of Ed and Roy, you can be damned sure they didn't know—and that if those boys find out who's behind it they'll put a stop to it. Things may not have worked out for you two, but I'd stake my life on a wager that he'd still do anything to protect you from harm. Because when all is said and done—we're still his family, even if you aren't his wife. He has a new life with Roy—and you're going to have a new life in Rush Valley with Godz. And time is going to pass and you both are going to change—change a lot. And one of these days that anger is going to die down…and you'll be able talk without all this pain getting in the way. And when that day comes…maybe…you'll salvage your friendship. And the rest of us will be the better for it. Now," she pointed at the plate of snickerdoodles, fragrant with spices, "eat your damn cookies. If your stomach growls any louder you'll wake the kids."  
#####  
Donnel Samuelson threw back another shot of scotch and then passed the bottle to Elinor, She didn't bother with a glass. She took a deep pull and sucked hard on the filter of her Baccy Light. "D-damn…I….ohhh….shit." She could drain the bottle, but she doubted it would be enough alcohol to blot out the horror of what she'd seen.  
By comparison, the pictures of Fuhrer Mustang and Edward Elric were tender, even romantic in a way she found uncomfortably exciting. The two kissing sweetly in the snow. They way Mustang tenderly cradled his lover close, one hand cupped around his sleeping lover's hard cock, Edward's face nestled in the strong curve of Mustang's bare throat, pale as winter. Stolen glimpses of two men of great power, Intimate…yes, and oddly moving.  
Whereas the pictures that had been delivered to the studio during the Funny Bear Ice Cream segment had made her want to vomit.  
"You're going to fire him…right?"  
Samuelson drained the bottle and glanced at his watch. Archer hadn't phoned in, although the Fuhrer's secretary, some woman named Sheska, had rung in to the call line to let them know that Archer was conducting his interview with the Fuhrer and would have a statement for Radio Central later that afternoon. Samuelson hoped to hell it was a resignation. "There's not a morals clause I can hold him to-but I sure as hell can persuade the brass to give him another air spot. He's a goddamned loose cannon and he's going to drag us down with him with this Mustang mess. Never should have let him get away with the muck about old man Grumman."  
Elinor nodded. "Looks like we'll be kissing Mustang's ass—for a while, anyway." And after seeing him naked she smiled to herself that wouldn't be half bad.  
#####  
Archer opened his eyes. That was a relief. That Elric bastard had landed a punch to his right eye that should have knocked it straight through his skull, followed by an automail kick in the gonads that probably flattened them like flapjacks.  
To his surprise—and profound relief—they were swollen but intact and when he focused on what was in front of him all he could see were…boobs.  
Big ones. Impressive ones. Decked with pearls and gold and scented with something that had to cost 10,000 cens an ounce and hand squeezed from the finest jasmine smuggled from Aerugo. Dugs. And wattles of wrinkled flesh. A mole…one he'd seen before and prayed to all the powers of fate and misfortune he'd never see again.  
"Why, hello, Frank! Didn't expect to find you here!" That raspy voice that sounded like it was strained through a billion high tar filter-tips and a barrel of bourbon. "I had just stopped by to congratulate my Roy-Boy on his speech this morning and let him know that I finally got that roll of film from his fishing trip with Havoc and Breda back from the drugstore. I asked him if I could borrow his camera—you know, use up the last snaps on the roll and he said 'sure!'. So I thought I'd take some pictures of the renovations I've done on the restaurant. You know, the new jukebox—" she waved a snapshot under his nose, "—the new indoor grill—that's Chef Ramsay there. He cooks for Roy now, you know." She flipped out another picture. "This is my new office. Those damask drapes replaced those flimsy chintz ones that matched the old sofa—gave that the heave-ho too, you notice." A photo of the Old Cunt grinning behind a walnut desk, surrounded by gilded lamps straight out of an East City cat house. "And then there's-whoopsie! Now, where did THESE come from, mmmmmmmm?"  
A half dozen pornographic poses were fanned before his eyes like the winning hand of a Briggs Hold 'Em poker tournament.  
A smiling bit of damn-near-jailbait wearing nothing but a wreath of flowers and an automail strap-on with a dry cell battery pack was rooting deep in the rectum of a kneeling Frank Archer who was in some sort of obscene shoulder stand, ass in the air, bound by bondage straps and face turned towards the camera. He had an infant's pacifier stuck in his mouth.  
Another image showed him sporting a butt plug adorned with a pony's tail, a ball gag and a saddle while two naked Xingese girls giggled and rode his back, lashing him playfully with riding crops.  
A third involved something the women in the trade referred to as 'watersports'. It had nothing to do with sailing.  
She straddled a chair inches from his nose and picked up where Edward Elric had left off. "Now," she blew a stream of smoke into his face, "as Edward was saying, freedom of the press doesn't mean freedom from responsibility. There's news, " she surveyed the photographs with amusement, " and then there's trashing people's lives to advance your career. Like you did that poor naïve girl in Resembool. Like you did to old Grumman, who's a better man than most and who pulled this country back together after the whole goddamn capital blew apart. You kicked him in the dirt—and since he was ready to retire he didn't fight you. But my Roy-Boy is young—he's tough and he doesn't allow pissants like you to tear down the good that's been done in this nation. You took some sneaky snaps of my boy and Edward Elric and you tried to peddle them to the papers and the local affiliates in hopes that all of Amestris would rise up and say, 'Hey! Mustang's a homo! Let's throw him out!'. Son, you have no idea who you're dealing with." The photos were fanned before his eyes again. "Right now copies of these pretty pictures are on Donnel Samuelson's desk. Others are about to go out by military courier and wire to East, West, North and South City—oh, and to that retirement home outside Wisteria Valley where your mother-"  
Archer was sweating and shaking. "God…please…please…tell me what you want! I'll…whatever you want…just don't leak those pictures…."  
#####  
Chris Mustang closed the door behind her. She was smiling. She kissed her boy on the cheek, handed Edward a folder of photographs and patted his shoulder. "Be good boys and play nice. Take care of the country. I'm heading off to work. Stop by for dinner. Steaks on the house."  
And she was gone.  
Roy and Ed exchanged puzzled glances. "What the fuck?" Ed peered into the folder and then dropped it as if it was a fresh turd. "HOLY SHIT!"  
Roy smirked at his lover. "As I said…there's the right way, the wrong way…and the Mustang way…."  
…TO BE CONTINUED….


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward prepares to depart for Resembool to dissolve his marriage--but Roy has created a...unique...keepsake for his young lover. Alphonse makes a final decision about his relationship with Mei Chang and Roy comes out on national radio...

HALF LIVES, CHAPTER 25: "PROMISES TO KEEP"  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

 

"It's me."  
"Oh." There was an awkward pause. "Granny said you needed to tell me something."  
"Yeah." This was so much harder than Ed had expected—but they needed to be able to talk without their conversation dissolving into a shouting match. Just tell her what you need to tell her. Tell it straight and simple. That's all you need to do. "I…" he cleared his throat nervously then began again. " I wanted to let you know that you ought to tune in to the six o'clock news on Radio Capital. There's gonna be a statement about the Archer thing. He…he's turned himself in to the authorities. He's being charged with extortion and criminal trespassing—and invasion of privacy. He's—he's not contesting it. He's pleading guilty."  
That threw her. "Ed? How did you-"  
"—wasn't me. It was Roy's Aunt Chris. Seems she's been on to Archer since he went after Fuhrer Grumman. Figured he'd go after Roy sooner or later so while he was getting the goods on us, she was getting 'em on him. You wouldn't believe the shit he was getting into—"  
"—like what?"  
Ed stomach churned. "You really don't wanna know. He was a pervert and if he ever shook my hand again I swear I'd rinse it with bleach. Anyway, considering the photos of him and his…girls… going around, those pictures of me and Roy asleep are pretty damn tame. And since they're considered evidence in an extortion case most copies have been seized. And I got a promise that they are not going up to Resembool or Rush Valley to bother you again. Next time the press comes to see you, it's gonna be about how you're kickin' butt at Godz, okay?"  
She found herself smiling at the confidence in his voice. "Thanks. That…that means a lot."  
"No problem." The silence hung heave for several moments. "Are the kids around?"  
'Uh…no. The boys are watching them and…they're…you know…"  
Ed bristled. She shouldn't have the hired hands and smiths looking after the kids-but no. No. He was not going to blow this. "Okay…okay. Um…tell them I love them and give 'em a hug, okay?"  
"Yeah." She twisted the phone cord nervously between her fingers. "Listen…about next week…" She didn't want to bring this up, but if she didn't get it out it would just worry her. "Is…Roy….going to…?"  
Ed sighed quietly. "No. It would turn it into a media circus. He says we don't need the stress. Hawkeye's coming, though. Roy didn't think you'd mind."  
"No…that would be good. She's been really helpful to me."  
Ed nodded. "She's…pretty neutral. We kinda need that."  
"Yeah."  
"And Teacher and Sig will come with me….and Al. They're gonna meet up with us in East City when we change trains."  
"Al's coming?" She sounded just a little too eager and it made him uneasy.  
"Yeah…he's gonna stay at the house with you and Granny, if that's okay-" He cleared his throat again. He was sweating. All he wanted to do is get off the phone. "Um, I'm staying at the inn with Teacher. Granny says she'll meet me at the train and bring the kids when I get there. We'll have dinner in our suite before she takes 'em back. I…wanna get 'em some toys…if that's okay with you."  
She felt a sharp spike of irritation. She wanted to snap back Sure, Ed—buy your way into their affections. Spoil them so they think I'm horrible if I tell them 'no'. But Granny had warned her to keep calm and not raise her voice. You're going to be dealing with each other for the rest of your lives and you're going to have to be civil…so you better start now. She had given her word that she'd try, no matter how much Ed provoked her. "I'm sure they'd like that. Is there anything else….?"  
"N-no. Um…okay. If we don't talk before then…I'll see you next week."  
"Uh-huh."  
"Okay…bye."  
"Bye."  
Edward placed the phone carefully in its cradle. His hand was cold and trembling. He threw back a shot of brandy and then hurried back to his lover.  
"How'd it go?"  
"I gave you my word I wouldn't fuck it up." Ed managed a weak smile. "And I didn't. Nobody slammed any receivers down and nobody yelled. It was…."  
"-civil?"  
Ed nodded. "I got five more days before I leave." He reached for Roy's hand. He didn't want to admit that he needed reassurance but Roy could see it in his eyes. "I'm just a phone call away—and I'm going to arrange to meet your train at East City. I can take care of some business and you'll be just a few hours away."  
Ed stared at his lover. "How'd you manage that?"  
"Miles and Scar are heading back to Ishbal, along with Dr. Marcoh. I'll be meeting with other tribal leaders to make sure there are no issues we aren't addressing from here." His fingers tightened around Edward's and he pulled his younger lover close enough so they could briefly lean against one another. It had been a hideously exhausting day—not the worst of Roy's life by a long shot, but annoying and needlessly distracting from the announcement about the Collegium. We change the world today—and yet the top story tonight will be about a celebrity blackmailer, he thought ruefully. The irony of that would be funny if it weren't insulting to every one who is working so hard to make peace on this continent. "I'll come down on a separate train with them, shortly after yours leaves. I will be there to meet you and we'll take the trip home together. Preferably," he added with a knowing smile, "in a private car."  
Ed shook his head. "Don't know what kind of shape I'll be in—"  
"—and I'm making no assumptions, other than being there for you. If you need to blow off steam or shout or cry or make love or sleep or just need a warm body near while you bury your nose in a book…I'll be there."  
Ed briefly rested his forehead against Roy's, eyes sliding closed as he savored the warmth and scent of the man he had chosen. I'll be there. And he had been, right from the moment he had vomited all over the carpet and passed out in the Palace, blood dappling his bright hair. Roy had been there. And even when they would be miles apart, he was sure he'd still feel that presence, distance be damned.  
"One thing more." Roy whispered. "Those pictures of us. When they round up the copies, one will be missing." He touched the inner pocket of his jacket. "You look damn good. I'm keeping it."  
"Actually," Ed grinned, "there'll be two unaccounted for. I'm gonna want that picture when you're in East City and I'm alone in Resembool."  
Dark eyes twinkled mischievously. "You mean you're going to—"  
"Gimme five minutes," Ed boasted, " and a private stall in the crapper and I'll do it right now. I could kick Claude's ass for taking it-but it gets me hard as hell."  
Strong fingers slid down and squeezed. Ed shivered.  
"Me too."  
#####  
Donnel Samuelson was sucking furiously on a horehound drop to clear his throat. His voice needed to be warm and authoritative. He was going to interview Fuhrer Mustang in a special broadcast to follow the six o'clock news. "And there will be no questions or discussion about the Archer scandal," Mustang had informed him during a brief phone call. "I have regarded Radio Capital and Central Times as trustworthy representatives of our country's media. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that we could have taken this interview to ABC or that new Public Broadcasting Network." At those references, Donnel gritted his teeth. The fledgling Amestrian Broadcast Company and Public Radio networks hadn't yet taken a bite out of their listener base, but if Mustang signed on to give them exclusive Presidential coverage the ratings at Radio Capital would take a serious nosedive.  
Donnel gave his word that he wouldn't bring the subject up "unless you choose to address it yourself, sir."  
Mustang's voice had been cool and crisp and rich with subtle implications that he could take Donnel down as swiftly and efficiently as he'd hamstrung Frank Archer. After all, Donnel had allowed airtime for Frank to spew his nasty little insinuations every afternoon, mainly because the shop girls and housewives who were the listener base for Midday Amestris just ate that shit up with a spoon. "And on top of all the rest of this bullshit, I've got to find a replacement for Archer's segment by tomorrow. Goddamn!"  
#####  
Alphonse picked disinterestedly at the supper Sebastian had sent up to Al's office. Dr. Chen, who had already finished up and was on his second cup of tea, glanced at him sympathetically. "Your brother wants to talk to you?"  
"Uh…yeah." The golden eyes stared down and long fingers toyed with the salt shaker. "We're having a private breakfast tomorrow."  
"I see. And," the older man ventured carefully, "I am guessing it is in reference to your feelings that you have not expressed but betray your eyes whenever you speak of a certain lady whom you hold in great esteem."  
Alphonse shoved his plate away and reached for his coffee instead. "Yeah. He says we've got to have this out well before we go up to Resembool for his divorce hearing. Chen-san," he regarded his companion intently, "I want to do the right thing. I have to do the right thing—"  
"—but it is feeling, as you say, not so right inside?"  
"Exactly." Alphonse was grateful that Chen-san had been his confidant for the past few years. Brother had been the whole of his world for so long but now neither of them was in agreement and neither of them could be objective about—"Winry." He shook his head and was surprised at how tight his chest felt when he said her name. "I know what I feel. And I don't want to hurt Brother or betray him. And it's not good for me to say anything—not now. Even if she could feel for me—"  
Dark eyes met golden eyes with direct candor. "Then it would be in Mei-Chan's best interest not to wait anymore in hopes that you might approach the Emperor regarding Mei-Chan's hand in marriage? She has waited for a very, very long time to come of marriageable age and has expressed her sorrow that you have not yet spoken."  
His companion's handsome eyes were clouded with sorrow and regret. "I…I love her as my mei-mei—my little sister. There is nothing I would not do for her. She is so brave and so wise in many ways….but…I guess it's like Ed and Winry. He loves her and would lay down his life for her, but he didn't think of her as a lover. Didn't really consider it until she pushed the issue and got all upset with him when he was leaving. And he figured it would be okay and they'd work it out—and it would make Winry happy."  
"Only it did not." Chen nodded. "And it hurt her in the end—and you would spare Mei-Chan that sorrow."  
"Exactly."  
"Then," the doctor told him simply, "I ask that you hold to your resolve that you will tell her so. Tell her clearly and kindly and with compassion for her feelings—but tell her you must."  
It hurt Al to think how Mei would react. She was so emotional—and she was so devoted to him. But she had been a little child when he had met her and he had been fifteen. Precocious and brilliant she was—and her devotion touched him deeply, but she would always be his mei-mei, not the idol of his heart. "I promise, Chen-sama. As soon as we get back. One broken heart around here is enough."  
#####  
"Well?" Roy searched Ed's face for an honest verdict about how his in-depth interview on Radio Capital had gone. "Did I say anything you found objectionable?"  
"I wanna rip your clothes off."  
'I believe that's the most positive rating I've ever received for a radio address."  
"Get naked."  
"I don't take orders from civilians. However—"  
"Shut up and fuck me, you bastard!"  
#####  
Three-fourths of the time slot had been dedicated to Project Alexandria, the remainder focusing on the announced plans to move the Presidential Palace to an adjoining estate the government had purchased. A little less grandiose than the former Armstrong Estate but in actuality the property was easier to defend, had rooms that would lend themselves perfectly to office and living space, a rose garden that rivaled the previous Palace—and, as Roy slyly pointed out, "I won't be half-blinded with gold leaf and crystal chandeliers every time I turn the corner. My personal tastes are…shall we say…not quite so ostentatious. And," he added with a charming chuckle, " the Palace Staff won't need to use roller skates to get from one wing to another. The number of collisions in the hall between my staff and the servants was starting to mount up. My needs are simple. There's also a stable on the grounds. I was an officer in the mounted cavalry unit as a cadet and competed in classical dressage before graduation. It will be good to spend time in the saddle again. I've been running the Command obstacle course for fitness, and frankly I'd rather keep my boyish figure through riding."  
"Not to mention you would cut quite a dashing figure on horseback, Fuhrer Mustang." Donnel replied, delighted that Mustang was turning on his considerable charm for the audience. "The ladies of Central would quite enjoy seeing that on the front page of the Central Times."  
"Indeed." There was a pause. "And so would the gentlemen."  
Donnel's jaw would have hit the tabletop if it had not been attached to his skull.  
"My companion has young children by a previous marriage. I believe that riding is an excellent family activity and I intend to find a pair of ponies and a suitable riding master so that when the children come to visit with us we can all ride together, although my companion has lately become a bit obsessed with ballooning and his brother is training him as an Aeronaut—so no doubt the children will be filling the house with toy airships and begging me to transmute a little helium and float them up and down the halls…it should be quite diverting."  
And Roy had offered Donnel Samuelson a smirk that shut him up so abruptly that all he could stammer was "Thank you, Fuhrer President, and good evening, Amestris!"  
####  
"Don't move….just let me look at you."  
Edward was not a vain man, and the scars and odd lumps of metal protruding through his skin were nothing he was proud of. Mirrors told him his hair was neat and his tie—if he bothered with one—was straight. "Pervert," he whispered. "Why do you want to stare at me like that? And what's with the mirror?"  
"Shhhhhhh…." CLICK!  
"I can't believe you wanna—ohhhhhhhh….oh, fuck, that's so good…"  
"Now, lie down…just like we were in the picture." Roy stretched out on the sofa before the fireplace in their private quarters, pale skin glowing in the flickering light, dark eyes hot with invitation. Ed gazed down at the rose-dark cock, arched and pulsing with each beat of Roy's heart. Already the tip had emerged moistly from its hood and a glistening bead of precum was dripping down on that taut, scarred belly. He felt suddenly empty and the realization that there was only one person that could fill that void was holding out his arms to Edward—and did not intend to let him go, no matter how far he flew or how fast he ran—made his heart hammer in his chest and all he wanted to do was sink into that embrace and be filled in every since of the word.  
Back to chest, head turned slightly until his cheek fitted into that curve between shoulder and jaw line. He could hear Roy inhaling the scent of his hair and when those strong fingers swept down to tease his nipples he cursed softly, ordering his lover to stop teasing for god's sake and touch him. CLICK!  
"Mmmmm…I love this…right here." A finger followed the thick vein on the underside of Ed's cock, traced the hard ridge and then, slick with Ed's essence, delicately strummed against his oh so sensitive frenulum, as gently as he would with a curious tongue tip. Ed panted and goose bumps rose up on the back of his neck. "God, I could suck on this all night…but you did ask me to fuck you, so…" CLICK! "…pass the butter, will you?"  
Ed lifted his uppermost leg, resting it on the top of the sofa. Roy slicked his fingers with one of the few dairy products Edward found he didn't object to, and began coaxing that tight furl of muscle to relax for him. It didn't take long now—Edward had become more trusting as a lover and was downright impatient at times. He fitted the heated tip of his cock into that delicious tightness, pausing as the ring of muscle spasmed upon entry—a moment that might be somewhat uncomfortable for Ed but was purest bliss for Roy. Then the blonde pushed back and Roy slid deep, reaching home, within his lover's body where he wanted to remain rooted in that silk-soft heat that clenched at him mercilessly and made Roy sob out his breath and pray for strength to master the urge to just thrust and burrow mindlessly into the body he had come to cherish so much. CLICK!  
He caught Ed's upper leg in the crook of his strong arm, drew back his hips and then glided forward again, exquisitely slow, exquisitely deep, touching that sweetest spot with each stroke. Ed twined his hands around his own cock, wetting his fingers between Roy's lips and wailing his lovers name in breathless gasps with each stroke. Roy had him spread wide, shameless. Ed gloried in it—the smell of musk and sweat, the slick sounds of Roy plunging into him, the taste of his own salty blood as he bit at his own lips to keep from screaming. The thick ribbon of semen that burst from him. A few strokes later, a shudder and an answering heat that filled him. CLICK!  
#####  
In the morning, the prints were dry and the negatives were burned. Discreetly bound in black leather. It had been tricky for Roy to keep sane enough in the midst of their pleasure to remember to click the shutter cable. Ed noticed that there were quite a few blank pages in both books for future posings. Even better, both books closed with a locking clasp to protect the precious snapshots from prying eyes. A little something, Roy told him, 'so you won't forget me while you're in Resembool."  
"Not fuckin' likely," Ed said, shaking his head at the ironic title embossed in gold on the cover:  
"OWNER'S MANUAL"  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…..


	26. HIS REASONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy makes a difficult decision: to admit to Edward exactly how much he has manipulated him since their relationship began. But first, he introduces Ed to the 'lady' in his life...a mysterious dark beauty named Cirrocco...

HALF LIVES Chapter 26: HIS REASONS  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010  
(Author's Note: this chapter is dedicated to the memory of the legendary Arabian stallion Cass Ole, featured in the film The Black Stallion—and to Doujin artist extraordinaire Bambi Takada for her beautiful Equestrian Game and a portrait of Roy on horseback that took my breath away…)

Diamond bright morning. Hooves in the snow.  
The air burned his lungs but it felt so good to be out here in the frozen garden. Good to be alive. Better to be alive and in love again after the wrenching loss of Maes on his wedding day—a pain only eclipsed by the agony of hearing the clods of dirt thudding on his lover's casket.  
It was best of all to be alive, in love and cantering across an open paddock on the morning when the first breath of spring reminded Roy Mustang that if he and Edward could just get past this bitter winter—if they could survive the bitter aftershocks of Ed and Winry's divorce, then all of them could mend their wounds, begin their respective new lives—  
"—and maybe all of us will have a chance at happiness, Maes." The sun was warm on his face, warm as the memories of Roy's personal saint, who whom he addressed his words, only half believing they reached his old lover. "I just...I have to be sure. Before I start planning to hang swings in the trees or buying ponies or wanting to be with Ed's son when he catches his first fish. I don't believe my heart could stand another loss of loved ones. I'm still not sure how I survived losing you. I have to be sure, Maes…because there's no turning back, no pretending it never happened like I had to do to keep the sanctity of your marriage and out of fear for your—for our careers. Not this time, Maes. Not with Edward…"  
Hawkeye had taken him to task last night. "How is it different, Sir? In all candor—is there really a difference between what Edward says Winry did to him and what you've done? Guilt and family bonds -or desire and dreams fulfilled and a purpose for a man who's wandering in useless aimlessness? Is there a difference? Did either one of you truly give Edward Elric a choice?"  
And so he had left the palace early to meet the train that carried his other confidante home from her long winter with the stallion that had sired the long-hoped for foal of pure mustang blood, a foal that would keep the rare desert breed alive in Amestris. Aunt Chris would give him hell from time to time. Hawkeye placed ugly and unavoidable truths like piles of unsigned paperwork into his hands so he could not slink off and avoid what he didn't want to see. But this lady, this most precious companion, would listen gravely and somehow when she carried him on her strong back his mind would clear and he would figure out The Right Thing To Do.  
The Ishballan horse master had told him, "a man may keep secrets from his wife and his God-but never from his horse."  
Roy had told Maes. Now he swung down out of the saddle and slipped his arms around the graceful arched neck. "M'lady…we need to talk…."  
#####  
Not much packing to do, really. Had to pack more these past few years, since he couldn't use alchemy to remove the dirt and sweat and stink from his clothing anymore. There was laundry service at the hotel—but he wasn't staying long enough to need it.  
A day's ride to East City, where he'd catch up with Teacher and Sig. Two days to Resembool. The timetable would land them at the station around four-ish to meet Granny and the kids, check in, and take the family out to dinner. Al would head up to the house with Hawkeye to meet Winry and make sure everything was in readiness for the morning.  
By the time the mail train pulled out of the station they would all gather for breakfast at the hotel. At ten they would assemble at the Magistrate's office to File for Dissolution of Marital Status. It would be recorded in the Registry that Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell had mutually agreed to end their marriage and would notate property division, financial settlements for the children and an agreement that all debts and responsibilities had been satisfied to their mutual agreement. They would append their signatures to the Register under the Magistrate's name, along with the signatures of a witness for each party. They would shake hands politely and exit through separate doors…and that was that.  
If all went smoothly he'd be hearing the bright, bouncy theme of Midday Amestris from the bench on the platform—that same goddam bench where he'd struck that unfortunate deal with Winry to stop her crying. I'll tell you what—I'll give you half of my life for half of yours. That's equivalent exchange, right? It had been anything but equivalent—and the Rebound had ruined everything. And Truth this time wasn't a shining phantom, mocking him. It would be a kindly man in black who had known them both since childhood—and had been witness to their bickering on their wedding day.  
He would not go easy on either of them  
If the Magistrate felt that either party was taking unfair advantage, he could legally order the offending party to surrender goods or income so that both partners walked away from the wreckage fairly done by. Edward had no legal responsibility to provide support for Winry since she was a skilled craftswoman. He willingly had outlined a generous monthly sum to be placed in trust for the children's needs and education. He was applying for shared custody, meaning that he requested that a certain number of weeks per year be set aside for the children to live in Central. It would not be easy and he had documentation of the names of a half dozen registered and bonded nannies who would assist him during the daytime when he was at the Institute. He would provide proof of a stable home in the private quarters he shared with Al and with Granny when she would come up to teach once a year. He had proof of income that included his military pension, his State Alchemist retirement and his projected endowment as Headmaster at the Hohenheim Institute. Winry, on the other hand, would be a prosperous engineer with Godz Studio, with a fine reputation and more than enough income to fully support the children on her own if she declined Ed's monthly payments. If she did, Ed would put the money in a trust fund for the kids to inherit when they came of age at 16.  
Yes, he'd have time to hug the kids goodbye and jump on the 12:15 for East City. For security reasons, Roy would be in one of the private waiting rooms with his staff. They would greet one another. They would shake hands and Ed would join the Fuhrer's retinue. When they boarded, he would join Roy in his private car.  
Then he could fall apart if he needed to.  
He checked and rechecked the last of the documentation before closing his briefcase with a weary snap! and placing it carefully beside his suitcase and the small bundle of gifts he had for the children. Yes, everything was neatly packed, filed, organized and timed to the nth degree.  
Except for that one awkward hour between, 9am and 10 am when, as promised, they would talk. Alone.  
It might not take an hour. He hoped it wouldn't take an hour. But there was a lifetime of friendship at stake, and much of it would depend on how carefully both of them chose their words behind closed doors. Her mother and grandmother had brought him into this world on a bone-chilling winter morning. Trisha had spent a sweltering summer's day holding Sarah's hand until Winry arrived just before nightfall. They had rocked in the same cradle, peed on the same cribs and cots with Alphonse and shoved each other in the mud along the same riverbanks. She was family, damn it…why the fuck did we have go and ruin this? If I had told her no when she cried at the station and yelled at me, we'd still be family…not like…this… He shook his head, swore under his breath and shut the door of his old bedroom behind. He didn't want to look at the briefcase and the suitcase until 5am tomorrow when they would be escorted to the station.  
"Sir? Just to remind you that His Excellency will be meeting you at Rose Hill in—"  
"—ten minutes. Yeah, I know, Sebastian. Jeeze, all right, all right. Lemme get my coat on." That was right—before kissing him goodbye and hurrying off before breakfast, Roy had asked that Edward meet him next door at the grand estate the government had purchased to be the new Presidential Palace. Edward would be spending a lot of nights there, and Roy wanted the privilege of showing him briefly around. Ed would have apartments—these very ones that he'd been sleeping in of late—as the Headmaster of the Institute, so he and Al would simply convert one of the rooms into a nursery and a private one for Granny once the Collegium was open. But he wanted to be close to Roy and Rose Hill was just a short stroll away. This summer a special fence and gate would link a common pathway to make it easier to come and go between the two estates, but for now it he had to walk around out of his way and Havoc was driving him to save time.  
#####  
"Heh…clear skies. Been awhile." Felt a little warmer too, as if spring was finally starting to make headway over winter's hold on the Capitol. Small purple crocuses were poking up bravely through the crusted snow and if you could find a quiet spot away from the distant roar of traffic and the shouted cadence of marching soldiers you could have heard the sound of dripping thaw and the whump! of snow patches sliding off roofs and tree branches and landing in the drifts below. The air smelled sharp and polished with a faint smoky tang from the cigarette dangling from Havoc's lower lip. "Mornin', boss. You ready?'  
"Yeah." Ed was thankful for the car's warmth, even more thankful for the covered flask of hot coffee Sebastian had provided in the back seat. "Seems stupid to drive. Could have walked it, easy."  
Havoc grinned as he turned out of the circular driveway, drove a few dozen yards and then turned a hard right between towering gates of iron lacework. "Yeah, well, no sense getting your feet wet. 'Sides, the Chief says he needs to talk in private—and he wants you to meet someone."  
"Meet someone?" Ed asked. "Must be the people who are selling."  
The grin grew wider. "Says there's another Mustang in town—a member of his family that he wants you to meet."  
"Out here? Fuckin' ridiculous." He glanced at the window, then stared up…and up…at the mansion that loomed before them. "Wow…shit, this is more like it!"  
"Better than the Armstrong joint?"  
Ed was grinning now. "Oh fuck yeah!" Havoc nodded in agreement. Amestrian architecture was about as inspiring as a plate of sausage and mash—generous in size and practical but no real style. The Armstrong estate, by contrast was a rococo nightmare of gold leaf, chandeliers, and polished white marble floors so slick one was in perpetual risk of skidding on a carpet runner and busting one's ass. Roy's own quarters were more casual and comforting but Ed still didn't like it very much.  
Rose Hill had been crafted with loving hands, that much was certain. Definitely with a more artistic eye. Built to a slightly smaller scale, it had a welcoming air with its avenue of oaks that laced its branches above the driveway and its graceful, sweeping lines. As they pulled up before the terraced entry several faces popped out of the open diamond paned windows and waved cheerfully. Ed waved back.  
A gardener waved Havoc around to the carriage entrance. "Follow through the gate and around back. Chief's out by the fountain. You can't miss it."  
Ed didn't know who might be waiting—another blowsy, good natured old woman like Aunt Chris? Maybe a distant cousin. Aside from Aunt Chris, Roy had told him next to nothing about his family on either side—not that Ed himself had shared more than the little he knew—his father was immortal and his mother was orphaned in her teens, inheriting her father's farmhouse, gardens and several plots of good pasture land that she rented out to other families for income to augment what small crops she sent to market. Not exactly prosperous but the Elrics never went hungry. As far as Ed knew, all Roy and Aunt Chris had was one another.  
Apparently, Ed was wrong.  
Edward had seen black. He'd never seen black like this. A black so absolute and perfect it reflected back the sunlight like a dark prism.  
This blackness was alive. It moved with such breathtaking grace it seemed to float above the surface of the snow with a gait so delicate the crust was barely marked in its passing.  
The creature danced up to the figure in blue seated on the stone rim of a circular fountain, its fans and curtains of ice now dripping down the graceful bronze sculpture in the center. The man wore the simple uniform of the Amestrian Light Cavalry, which had evolved into the standard officer's uniform with its cavalry skirt and short jacket. His head was uncovered, his own short locks as glossy black as the magnificent mare who playfully nudged his shoulder with her muzzle and lipped at his hair. He returned her affectionate gesture, leaning his head against her cheek, one hand capturing her reins while the other caressed the strong curve of her neck.  
Another…mustang. Ed shook his head. He'd been had—but considering how fine Roy looked in his Cavalry uniform it was worth being pranked for the pleasure of the view. "Bastard."  
Roy lifted a cautioning hand. "Such language in the presence of a lady." The horse's ears flickered at the sound of Edward's approach, head snapping up in a gesture that warned Edward that the horse had every intention of protecting her rider if she sensed any threat to him. "Shhhhh….Shhhhh…it's all right, my lady. It's all right. This is Edward. I've told you all about him." The gloved fingers softly caressed the angular head and Roy angled his head so that puffs of his warm breath reached the mare's nostrils—an equine gesture of friendly greeting. "You know Edward. " His voice was low and hypnotic and oddly tender. "You've learned his scent from my skin This is my man. This is my mate. It's about time I introduced you. "Something in those words made Edward shiver pleasantly. This is my mate.  
Never taking his eyes from the mare's, Roy gestured for Edward to approach. "Softly, now. Come to her at an angle, slightly to one side…good. Take off your gloves. She'll recognize your scent. A horse's sense of smell is as acute as any dog's. Stand still and don't be afraid. She won't hurt you."  
Nickering softly, the mare's great nostrils snuffled at his arm, his bare palm and, to Edward's surprise, his hair. Then she nudged him gently with her forehead. Roy frowned and captured her bridle. "Behave yourself," he told her firmly. "He's had enough people try to push him around and dominate him." He glanced at Edward. "Head butting is the equine equivalent of domination towards a human. It isn't allowed, so step away and ignore her. Ed noted that Roy was turning his back on his mount as if she had insulted him. Her whinny of frustration was downright comical and Roy was stifling the urge to laugh at her. Eventually he turned to face her again. "I accept your apology, and if you ask nicely I'm sure Edward wouldn't mind giving you your sugar."  
Minutes later Ed was laughing softly as the horse meekly approached and daintily accepted several lumps of sugar from his outstretched palm. "I can see the family resemblance," he joked. "Always said you were a horse's ass. Is she yours?"  
Roy patted the broad shoulder with genuine affection. "Yes. This is Cirrocco. One of the very few Desert Mustangs you'll ever see outside the eastern desert tribes. I helped bring her into this world and someday I'll tell you the story of how the Ishbalans let one of their precious mares out of the tribal lands. I'd have introduced you sooner, but she's been out of Central. I arranged for her to winter over with a Mustang stud called El Tariq out west and she's only just come home this morning. The sellers have graciously allowed me to move her right into the Rose Hill stables so we will be able to ride together. And if all goes well, when your children come to visit this fall there will be a newborn foal for them to pet. Think they'd like that?"  
Ed looked thoughtful. "Clever of you to plan it all out like this. But then you've always been good at getting what you want."  
Roy's expression became sober. "I imagined you'd say something like that. Truth is she's only now become old enough and it took forever to find a stud worthy of her."  
"Damn, you sound like Hughes."  
"A little, perhaps. But this isn't the real reason I asked you here. Sit. We need to talk…or rather," he sighed heavily, " you need to listen—if you can sit still long enough to hear me out."  
#####  
Paninya. Winry would love her forever now. "I'd do it for free, but since you've offered—yeah!" Winry saw no reason that an ex-pickpocket woudn't make the perfect roomie and live-In nanny. Free room and board and companionship—it would be perfect.  
Mr. Garfiel certainly approved. "Win-sies all around for my Winry!" he gushed. "Now, let's play nice with Edward and get this unpleasantness over with and get your new life started here in Rush Valley where you belong!"  
Where I belong. "Or at least," she told Nina as she tucked her daughter into a fresh diaper, "where I can prove myself. With Granny spending part of the year teaching at the Institute there's no reason not to start over in the Valley…" Privately it galled her a little that she too hadn't been invited to teach. Hadn't her techniques and innovations outmatched most of the automail technicians in Amestris? Why else was she deemed good enough for Godz? Maybe she'd bring it up when they talked before their meeting at the Magistrate's office…or she'd broach Al on the subject. "Maybe Al would give me a chance if Ed won't. We'll just see…."  
#####  
It wasn't characteristic of Roy to struggle for the right word. Smooth as silk. Slick as snot and shit doesn't stick to his ass hairs, either was the old joke that dogged him since he rose to Colonel years ago. But nobody ever heard him talk below the façade, save a trusted few—and even Hawkeye and Havoc never heard him speak about the emotions he kept so tightly schooled behind that cool, suave and slightly smug expression he offered to the world.  
Chris Mustang knew her boy's heart. Tim Marcoh, who shared the burden of Roy's sins in the war. Maes Hughes had gotten closer than anyone to deciphering Roy's heart. Until now. After all they had survived together, Edward was getting closer and deeper and chiseling more and more of the fortress around the real man behind the myth and rumor.  
And as such. Roy realized that if they were to have a future, they would have to stop lying to one another…  
"I seduced you. That's what Hawkeye says. Aunt Chris says it too, even if it turned out right between us." A long silence. "I rushed you into this relationship. You were wounded inside and out, but that's not an acceptable excuse. I wanted you. I didn't want to acknowledge it. But when you came to me that morning with a fractured skull and an equally fractured spirit…something changed inside me. I felt something deeper—but I was being selfish. I should have stepped back. I rushed you into my world. I gave you the post because you are the best—but because it would keep you near me." He sadly shook his head. "Detestable to the last. Fell in love and all I could think about was how much I wanted—needed—you. Didn't even occur to me that you needed time to heal from your losses. To be blunt," he concluded, "what I did to you is no different than what you've accused Winry of doing. And what…what I'm trying to say…is that I'm not sorry for loving you…but I'm sorry for being manipulative. It's…a hard habit to break. If I do it again I want—I need you to call me on it. Will you do that for me?"  
To his surprise Edward placed his hands on his hips and roared with laugher, so hard that Cirrocco shied up and bolted for the safety of her stall. "Goddamn you, Roy!" he shouted. "I've waited my whole fuckin' life to hear you admit it!" He grabbed his sides and wiped at his eyes as he continued to cackle for several minutes before his perplexed lover. "All right…all right, dickhead," he finally told his lover, slipping his arms around Roy's shoulders. "I'll work at being stubborn and you work at trying to run everybody's life—even if you're damned good at it sometimes. We'll start fresh from now. So," he glanced around, "any good trees to hang a swing on around this joint?"  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…


	27. The 5:15 TO RESEMBOOL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the train back to Resembool Izumi recognizes some deep tension between the Elric brothers. Since neither of them will talk, she vows to lock them in their stateroom to hash it out--with words or with fists--or else...

HALF LIVES Chapter 27: THE 5:15 TO RESEMBOOL  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010

 

"More coffee, Brother?"  
'No thanks."  
"You haven't touched your breakfast."  
"Not hungry."  
Alphonse and Izumi exchanged glances. So this is how it's going to be all the way to Resembool. "Edward, your omelet is getting cold. Eat it."  
Ed glanced at his teacher. Since she was not technically his master anymore she would not raise a hand to him. Still, all he had to do was glance into those keen black eyes and disobedience became a moot point. "Food's good," Sig offered, tearing into his twelfth sausage and his third plate of scrambled eggs. Even Alphonse was doing justice to a tall stack of hotcakes slathered in butter and drenched in wild blueberry syrup. Ed sighed heavily and poked at the semi-congealed mess on his plate. It made him faintly nauseous. Giving up on the eggs, he tried a bite of toast. It was cold and leathery. He shoved his plate away.  
Izumi shoved it back. "It'll make me sick." Alphonse shot him a sympathetic glance, whisked away the offending mess and plopped half of his stack onto an empty plate, spearing a sausage from the mountain of meat Sig had ordered and adding it to the puddle of syrup, just the way the boys had eaten their sausage as kids. Ed didn't acknowledge his brother but managed a few bites of sausage and a half glass of orange juice.  
So this is how it's going to be all the way to Resembool…

 

The journey from Central had been uneventful until they were five miles outside of East City Station. Ling, Ran Fan and the royal retinue was returning back to Xing and Ed and Al had traveled in the heavily guarded train car during the day-long journey. There had been a great deal of animated discussion over the Xerxes and Project Alexandria and the Elric's forthcoming trip to Aerugo. "Chen-san will represent our empire," Ling told them proudly, "and once they have grasped the mutual benefit of cooperation and exchanging ideas I will invite Prince Claudio to come and visit us at the Chrysanthemum Palace."  
"Maybe he'll send an envoy with us to Drachma this summer," Ed grinned. "I'm really looking forward to this."  
"Indeed. And this fall you shall be quite busy preparing the Institute if it is to be open for its first classes next summer. But at some point I want you to come visit, Edward. And who knows," he added slyly, "Mei Chang may have recovered from her broken heart by then and turn her obsessions towards you once more."  
Ed gave him an odd look. "Broken heart? What the fuck is that about?"  
Alphonse tried to tactfully gesture Ling to keep his mouth shut but it was too late. "She has been waiting for Alphonse-sama to ask for her hand and he has informed us that he will not be seeking to make her his bride. I believe he is waiting for Winry to get over you so that he may step forward and claim her as his own. After all," Ling observed, snagging a pink cake of fresh mochi, "it is well known that a woman who is of fierce temperament brings great enthusiasm to the bedchamber. Having tasted the generosity of my harem he no doubt is intrigued to find out for himself just how spirited the lovely Winry is in the-"  
"SHUT UP. GODDAMN IT!" Edward rose angrily and Ran Fan reached for her sword. Ling just laughed.  
"Edward, now—be honest. A woman who has a temper is always enthusiastic in bed."  
"One…more….word…."The cold fury in Ed's eyes shut the Emperor up immediately. Ed rose, grabbed his briefcase and stomped out of the car, slamming the door behind it so hard the glass cracked.  
"Put the window on Edward's tab. More tea, please, Ran Fan."  
"Yes, sire."

 

He didn't eat his dinner at the Central Command guest house where they met with the Curtises, grunting a semi-polite greeting and then stating he was tired before stalking up the stairs and straight to bed.  
Ed had hardly mumbled ten words since then. He hunched over his notes, pausing only to drink coffee and glance at his watch as they waited in the private lounge for the 5:15 to Resembool.  
Now as the train rocketed into the dawn past the countryside, the four of them sat in a private first class compartment in uncomfortable silence.  
Izumi's dark eyes cut back and forth between the brothers—Ed scowling and silent, Alphonse awkward and looking vaguely guilty. After an hour's observation, she was fed up and slammed her fist down so hard on the seat that both young men jumped several inches.  
"I THOUGHT YOU WERE BOTH GROWN MEN!" she shouted. "You're behaving like bickering children and I won't have it. This is ridiculous. Obviously you have something serious on your minds and neither one of you has got the guts to bring it to the surface. So," she rose and Sig followed her, "here's what I'm going to do. I'm locking you two in here—" they stepped into the train corridor, closed the glass doors and with a zzzt! she sealed the lock with alchemy, "—and you two children can get this off your chests—or you can stay in there until all that coffee you both drank needs to come out—and you either finish up and make peace and I let you out of there…or you pee out the window."

"Uh…Edward…um…about what Ling said—"  
Edward's eyes blazed with anger. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say, Alphonse."  
"Brother, please!" A fist curled tightly and Edward was so furious he was panting. He'd fought with Alphonse more times than he could reckon, but this time…  
Marry Winry? After what…after all this pain…what if she ever picked up a wrench and…  
It was a horrible thing to think of. Edward would never hit back. Unless she hit my brother…or my kids…I…I…don't know if I could hold back.  
"Brother, Ling is jumping to conclusions! I never said—"  
"—but it's what you want, deep down inside, right?" Ed's teeth were gritted and it was all he could do to keep from grabbing Al by the collar and shaking him until his eyeballs spun in their sockets. "Okay…so maybe you feel towards Mei like I do towards Winry…maybe she feels like your little sister and you don't want her the same way she wants you…but you have no idea…no idea what you're doing. If you think you're gonna marry Winry—"  
"Brother, are you jealous?"  
That earned Alphonse a sock on the jaw that left him seeing stars. "Stupid asshole." Ed snatched up his briefcase and dug out a black leather dossier folder. "All right—I didn't want to show you this shit…but before you start shopping for rings…here."  
The photos had been taken at the orders of Dr. Knox. "Knox knew I was lying. I didn't fall, and he fuckin' well knew it. Somebody hit me—and he had to take photos for evidence even though I wasn't saying jack shit about what really happened. That's why he was so pissed at me. He knew I was protecting someone—he was pretty sure who and why I was doing it. And he believed I was wrong. Go on," he waved at the sheaf of radiographs. "Hold 'em up to the light and get a good look at my skull fracture."  
The color photographs made Al's stomach churn. He'd seen his brother in far worse shape—but that was in battle. This was done by someone who loved him, someone he had aggravated past the point of patience. Someone who, he hated to admit, was as immature as his brother but hadn't learn enough self restraint not to just lash out when she felt like it. The shaved patch of scalp, purpled flesh surrounding a deep laceration, neatly stitched by Pinako Rockbell. Edward's face, up close and colorless. A photo taken of Ed's head with the flesh pulled back by hemostats and a hole drilled in the bloody skull made Al rush for the window and vomit. A post-surgical shot of the rubber drain stitched in and protruding from the wound. Finally a post-recovery shot taken after Dr. Chen had used alkahestry to heal the wound inside and out. All that remained now was a patch of short hair on the side of Ed's head that would eventually grow out. There would be no traces other than these photos and x-rays—and Marco's written statement from the chart:  
"Evidence suggests intentional blunt force trauma. Patient repeatedly refuses to admit to being attacked. As such there will be no prosecution case for the police to follow up on. My personal recommendation to the patient is to immediately seek some sort of counseling, particularly in regards to his marital relationship. His life may depend upon it. -Owen Knox, MD"  
When Al looked up, Edward was crying. "I can't let this happen to you…I just can't. Al…listen to me…you gotta listen—"  
"—Brother…"  
"NO! Goddamn it—just…please…let me say this. You're the other half of my soul, Al-and in spite of everything, Winry's my family too…you gotta hear me out, because I've been thinking about this whole fuckin' mess all that time I was in the hospital. And…and I talked. A lot. I talked with Teacher. I talked with Colonel Hawkeye…and I talked with Roy, who was so damned objective it pissed me off sometimes. I…I think I understand what the fuck went wrong…and if I don't say this you're gonna make the same mistake I made, whether you marry Winry or not."  
Edward was so earnest and in so much pain—how could Alphonse deny him? Shifting to sit beside his brother, Alphonse slipped his arm around Ed's shaking shoulders. He leaned his head against that very spot where the scar would be and whispered, "Tell me, Brother…say what you need to say. I promise I'll listen."  
In the corridor, ,out of view of the windows, Izumi and Sig Curtis pressed their ears to the sliding doors and listened. They listened, and their hands clasped. Izumi nodded. "Our boy is a stubborn fool much of the time, Honey," she whispered. "But once in a while he gets it right…"  
"Alphonse…listen. We can't make someone else the fulfillment of our dream. That's absolute fucking bullshit. That's what Winry did. She did that to me. You can't make someone else the center of your world. That's why things go wrong, 'cause it's too much for any person to try to live up to. I'm not saying it was bad or wrong for her to worry about us—but it went too far. That was all she thought about. Shit, look how she just walked out on Garfiel. And all she did was get captured by Kimblee and taken hostage. She wasn't thinking straight. It happens when we care too much about others and forget to care about ourselves. We have to stop looking for someone else to be the dream. We have to be our own dream—don't you see? The only dream we can follow and be happy and true to ourselves is our own. When we do that, Al, the right people, the people we're meant to be with—they come into our orbit like planets around the sun.  
"Winry's dream is to be the best automail engineer that ever lived. Know what? I think she's got it in her. But she got all side tracked over me and her hormones. Guys can get like that—I think Roy got that way about Hughes, sorta. For Winry, everything shifted to me—and to you, to a lesser degree. She should have stayed in Rush Valley and finished her apprenticeship and she would have gone straight to Godz and probably be running the damn studio by now.  
"But Ed—if that happened you'd never have had your children."  
"She'd have had kids with someone else—and I'd still get to love them and be a part of their lives…and they wouldn't be raised in a broken home. And Winry and I would be close again—she'd be happy about me and Roy and I'd be happy for her and whoever she'd marry. I'd feel good, knowing that she's happy, loving her work and around people who understand and value what she does. And hopefully she'd be happy for me.  
"What I want for her is to be true to her dream, to live it and I think…I really believe this…if she's happy and fulfilled…she'll put down that wrench. We'll see the best of her, Al. We'll see the person she really is inside. Let's face it, she and I get on each other's nerves. You've got a calmer personality—shit, you put up with me all these years. It's possible you might bring out the good in each other….but think about this, Al: what is your dream? Deep down inside—let's leave Winry completely out of it-if somebody asked you what you want more than anything in the world, what would it be?"  
Alphonse didn't answer for a long time. Ever since Ed's hospitalization, he'd been caught in an emotional tug of war—his soul-deep bond to his brother and his livelong love of Winry Rockbell. But when Ed and Winry had married, Al had pursued other visions…and when he was honest with himself, he missed them.  
"I want to cross the seas beyond Xing—beyond Creta. If this world isn't flat—and we know it isn't—why haven't Amestrians explored the globe? There's other countries—other people sharing this world, just like Roy said in his speech. I want to be the first to meet them—and then share what I learn with the world. I want to travel and study—and then come back and share with others as hungry to learn as we are."  
Ed nodded slowly. "And in spite of what she told me, Winry wants someone who's a partner to her. Somebody who'll raise the kids while she runs the shop, somebody who understands and really appreciates what's she's achieved. Somebody who speaks the same language and can share her world. Winry wants—Winry needs—more than half of someone's life. She wants it all—and she should get it. And I honestly think the kids will be happier in the long run if both their parents are living the lives they need to lead. Maybe…maybe it won't be like the perfect family. But hey, if their parents are happy people and can get along without heads getting bashed in…isn't that better than what they have now?"  
Alphonse had to admit Ed was right. "Give her time, Al. Let her go for her dream. Go for your own. And if, in the end, it leads you back to each other—I promise I'll be the first to give you my blessing. Because then I know you'll be safe. I'll know you won't go through the shit I went through. Will you promise me?"  
Al's arms tightened around Ed's shoulders and he blotted his tears on his brother's fine wool waistcoat. "But what about you, Ed? What about your dreams?"  
Edward chose his words carefully. "I want to fly, Al. Ever since I went up in the Xerxes, I can't forget how that felt. And I keep thinking—y'know those manned kites Ling talked about that the Xingese kids play with way up in the mountains?"  
"Yeah-the gliders. I've never had the nerve to try one, though," Al chuckled. "I've seen them run and jump off a cliff and let the wind carry them to the valley below."  
Ed's eyes were alight with excitement. "Right. Now, what if you could build a glider that you could control—maybe with some sort of light engine like you have on the Xerxes? I'm gonna talk with the Drachmans and see if we can build a glider this summer that could take off from level ground."  
Al blinked in surprise. "Not an airship?"  
"Nope! A controllable glider, powered by an engine. Sound like a fun project for this summer? Just think," he rummaged through Izumi's lunch basket and grabbed a fried chicken leg. He was suddenly ravenous. "If we could get enough lift and distance…who knows…maybe when you take that trip around the world you'll be able to fly over the oceans even faster than in an airship!"  
"Have you told Roy about this?"  
Ed salted his chicken and nodded enthusiastically. "Man loves speed—fast trains, fast horses—"  
"—fast women—" Al teased.  
"—hey, he still has to keep up with me," Ed bragged. "See what I mean? Roy understands my dreams and shares a lot of them. His first love is Amestris—but he knows no matter how far I fly, I'll always circle back for him and the kids…and you."  
Ed pulled out his sketchbook and the two blonde heads were bent over pages and pages of rough diagrams—"see, if we use a double wing framework and put the propellers here—", utterly absorbed in Ed's theories until Al looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Brother? I gotta pee."  
"So go-and stop by the dining car and get them to make me a ham sandwich, willya?"  
"Teacher locked us in, remember?" he fretted.  
"Some piss poor alchemist you are, Al. Get yourself out. Jeeze!"  
There was a soft ztttst! and the door slid open. A braided head peeked inside. "You boys all done yet?"  
Al smiled broadly and nodded. "And Ed wants a sandwich. Think they're serving lunch yet?"  
Sig shook his head, but Izumi smiled knowingly. "I'll head down to the dining car and use a little…womanly charm…let's see if they can be persuaded to make up a couple of box lunches for a couple of hungry little boys who didn't finish their breakfasts—or drink their milk-"  
"HEY!"

Alone in the compartment, Edward looked around guiltily—and then drew a locked journal out of his deep coat pocket. Unlocking it with the combination and key from around his neck, he flipped through the photographs that Roy had just added to the 'Owner's Manual'. Not all of them were erotic. There was a very nice picture of Roy in formal dress dancing with Tsarina Ekaterina, who was now en route to Drachma with Tsar Dimitri and Olivier Armstrong. To Ed's surprise, Claude Webster, the former valet who was blackmailed by Frank Archer into taking intimate photos of Ed and Roy, was part of their retinue. General Armstrong had informed Roy that many a desperate man had reformed under the harsh disciplines of Briggs Mountain. "And if he proves worthless…he can serve under General Raven." Ed still didn't understand why the Briggs soldiers laughed so hard at that statement…and he figured he'd be better off remaining blissfully ignorant. "Damn, she's harsh," he muttered to himself.  
More pictures. Roy on the back of Cirrocco, looking finer than anybody had a right to. Roy with Aunt Chris who was playfully pinching his cheek. And finally a picture Al had taken of the two of them together by the fire at opposite ends of the couch, both asleep, reading glasses askew and their long legs draped over each other's. Soon as he arrived in Resembool he'd call East City HQ and leave a message to let Roy know he had arrived safely. "And tell him to consult his manual for updates." Because folded inside was a scrap of paper—no more than a bit of foolscap, really, but the three words scrawled upon it would tell Roy everything he needed to know about what would happen between them when Ed returned home to Central:  
"Love you, Bastard"  
….TO BE CONTINUED…


	28. TRUST AND PINKY PROMISES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The joy of being reunited with his children in Resembool is shattered by a disturbing demonstration of the axiom 'as tree is bent, so grows the twig'. Meanwhile, Roy's private journal reveals the true emotions behind his cool, composed facade...

HALF LIVES, CHAPTER 28: TRUST AND PINKY PROMISES  
By The Binary Alchemist  
My request surprised them—threw them off guard, as it was meant to. "I'll stay in the officer's quarters." "But…but Excellency—" "You heard me. Take me to the Eastern Command barracks."  
These are my men. My soldiers. Should a Cretan sniper get lucky, their blood is on my hands. I am not sitting up in some marble tower playing with tin soldiers. If I have to send them to die someday I want to see their faces. I want to know their names.  
Forget the titles. Forget the stars on my shoulders and the palace and the armed escort and stealthy men like Sebastian who serves my tea with a wire garrote in his pocket in case someone makes a move to harm me. Forget even my dear Subordinate who has faced the horrors of hell and my own fury to keep me safe-even from my own madness.  
Lay it all aside. I am a soldier. I said it before. I will say it again. 'I want nothing more than to be a cornerstone that protects this country—to that end I am willing to die in a ditch.' Do not think for one moment when I am charming a Tsarina or sipping the finest cognac in the known world or sharing the softest of down featherbeds with my lover that I have forgotten this dedication. It could all be taken from me between one heartbeat and the next—yes, even Edward—and it would not change my resolve.  
And so I took my place in the mess hall line like any common soldier and nodded to the servers as I helped myself to beef stew and hot bread—and yes, to a slice of that same spinach quiche they served when Maes and I first fought over it when I was eighteen years old. I asked their leave to sit amongst them, broke bread and drank my coffee and before long they lost their fear of me when it was clear that this was no photo opportunity for the press. I was there because I wanted to be with them.  
I asked them their names, asked for their stories. And I listened—because I not only wanted to know…I need to know. If, fate forbid, I someday must write their mothers or sweethearts a letter of condolence, I want to be able to say, "yes, I met him in East City, and he told me how his father repaired radios in New Optain and how he hoped to be posted to Central because he's never seen a big city in his life—"  
If I ask them to die, then I must make them understand that, if called to do so, I will willingly stand shoulder to shoulder with them in the blood and madness of war.  
But…please…let me lead them in a better way.  
Edward arrived safely in Resembool an hour ago. We could not speak freely but he sounded clear-minded and confident. In the background I heard a squeal of childish laughter and an excited little voice eagerly calling 'Daddy! Hurry up! I wanna show you sump'in!" We both laughed and I told him to hurry back to his family, that I was glad to know he was safe and reaffirmed that he would call me at any time he needed to talk and for certain as soon as he was done at the magistrate's office. "When you get the time, check your manual," he told me in a quiet tone that warmed me. "Colonel Hawkeye has some documents in a private file for your perusal," I replied. I didn't risk telling him how much I missed him, how I wanted to be there for him—would be there for him as soon as he arrived in East City. I didn't need to.  
I hung up the phone, locked the door, opened the Manual and a slip of paper fell out:  
"Love you, Bastard"  
I had to go outside and under the early spring moon and breathe very slowly and very deeply. I had to expand something inside me to hold this gift I had been given.  
He seemed very close to me at that moment, even though he was probably at the inn with a child on each knee, admiring Nina's new tooth and trying so hard not to swear so his oh-so-bright son wouldn't be charging through the restaurant chanting sing-song obscenities and giggling at the adults cringing in horror. He needed this time with them. One day soon, I too would share in this. Family intimacy is foreign to me but I want to learn. I will never be the 'toss-me-up-and-tickle-me-Uncle-Roy' type—that's Alphonse's role. But I will carry Nina safely on my saddle and hold her up high so she can pull down handfuls of cherry blossoms in the spring and sit up all night by her bed and chase away any bad dreams that disturb her slumber. I will feed Maes' hungry little mind, answer his million questions with my full attention and help him reel in his first fish.  
They are Edward's blood and they are a part of me as Elycia never was-because Maes made his choice. He chose a good woman—but he had chosen me first, and was fool enough to think that he could compartmentalize those feelings. This much of his heart for her-and a corner kept for his 'best friend'.   
Maes told me he loved me. Then he found a woman on furlough and I became "…one of those things, y'know—I mean, I care, Roy…but you've always known that I've been waiting all my life for the right girl to come along…"  
My soul—my life-for a spare corner of Maes' heart. It wasn't enough. As absurd as Edward's 'half-life' offer to Winry. Because half is not enough. Once you've acknowledged the depth of love, you quickly realize that "half" is pitifully inadequate. Because something that's been cut in half is something that's wounded and incomplete.   
This time there will be no half measures. No half lives. If Edward is brave enough and strong enough, then he will get the whole of my heart-all the parts Maes could not make room for.  
Because Edward was quite mistaken. If you give the whole of yourself it does not bind you. It sets you free. Because wherever you are—he's there too, even if his body is half a world away.  
And it is because I trust him that much that I want to give him what I have given to one other man only: surrender. For me it is an act of the most intimate trust, pleasure aside. For when I am inside my lover I am still in command, still in control of myself and the situation. To go down on my knees and let another mould my body to his own, to play upon my nerve endings like an instrument in his hands…to be helpless under another's strength…only love would allow me to risk that much. Edward is no maiden-faced boy but a man fully grown who matches me for height and strength, thin though he still is, growing into his coltish legs and long arms. He didn't fear what I fear, this loss of control. He's had everything torn away from him, fought to earn it back and has no doubts about who he is anymore. Only the very strong can relinquish control and surrender to trust. And I want us to embrace as equals, strength for strength, trust to trust.  
And so when he returns and we embrace we will surrender to one another in mutual trust and ecstasy…  
-RM, private journal entry  
#####  
"Edward? We're here."  
"I know." Since his conversation…well, maybe that wasn't the right word…his…discussion with Alphonse…Edward had been calmer than he had appeared since the beginning of the long journey to Resembool. Hawkeye noted, however, that the younger Elric brother seemed quiet now, as if some heavy truths had landed upon him with the same force as the brotherly fist that had apparently clipped him on the jaw, judging from the swelling which Izumi frequently changed the ice packs. There was no apparent ill will, though—in fact, Alphonse now seemed more sympathetic towards his brother's situation than he had been in recent weeks. He's seen the dossier, the one with Dr. Knox's reports and photos. And the gravity of the situation has finally caught up with him, I suppose.  
At the moment, thankfully, Ed was focusing on the reunion with Pinako and the children. He had thrown open the window and his head and shoulders were already halfway out. "Stop that," Izumi scolded sharply. "Sit down and behave. You're not a child."  
Alphonse giggled. "And you'll get bugs in your teeth," he added.  
"Bullshit." But he ducked back in and took a moment to comb his hair—something she'd never seen him do in all the years she'd known him.  
She could hear the eager sound of a child's voice piping above the shouts of porters and din of a what appeared to be a flock of sheep being herded into the empty cattle car. On the platform she could barely see Pinako's peculiar bun poking up above the railings. Quickly she gathered up the paperwork she had been reviewing and tucked it neatly into her briefcase. One sealed envelope she moved to the top of the pile—it was to be handed to Edward before she left for the Rockbell house where she would be staying along with Alphonse. She looked forward to seeing Winry again, and privately she nursed hopes that the younger woman had taken to heart their conversation of nearly a month ago:  
… if I truly loved Roy Mustang, I had to accept him as he was—I will keep watching his back…but I'll also open my heart to other possibilities-and so will you…  
Edward sank to his knees and draped his greatcoat over his briefcase. A moment later he was flat on his back, knocked on his ass by a blonde rocket that burst out of nowhere and landed squarely on his chest. "DADDY!" Ed was laughing so hard he couldn't get up and Maes was tugging at his waistcoat and ponytail. "GET UP, DADDY! GET UP!" Growling playfully, Ed's arms swooped up and he began tickling the little boy mercilessly. He'd grown several pounds, an inch at least and wore his own little overalls and a belt of toy tools just like his mother wore. "Tackle me, will you?" The little boy whooped and squealed and then his uncle Alphonse snuck up behind them and scooped Maes off his father's chest and swung him in the air. "No fair, Maes! Give your dad a chance to get back up on his feet. He hasn't said hello to Nina yet."  
At that Maes' face lit up with excitement. "NINA!! Come here!"  
A smiling Pinako let go of the little girl's hand. "There's your dad, Nina. Go give your dad a hug."  
Nina just stared shyly at Edward, her green eyes wide with confusion. She put her finger in her mouth and then pressed her face in Pinako's skirts. Maes shook his head and struggled to get down. Alphonse set him on his feet and he held out his chubby arms to his sister. "Come 'a me, Nina!" The child peeked out behind her hands, saw her brother's toothy grin and then toddled straight into Maes' arms. "Okay?" Maes ruffled his sister's soft brown hair.  
"Uh-huh!"  
Maes then reached over and ruffled Edward's hair. "See? He okay. He DADDY. See, Nina?"  
Only then did Nina Elric hug her father. Ed wrapped his arms tightly around both children, sniffing hard to keep the tears back. She doesn't really know me he reminded himself. She's still so little. But it's good to see that she's so close with Maes and he's obviously quick to protect her like a good brother.  
Golden eyes sparkled with the sly avarice of childhood. "You gots stuff in your pockets, Daddy?"  
Ed winked at his son. "I've got stuff in my bags—they aren't off the train yet. We're gonna go get checked in and get dinner and then you and Nina get your surprises after you've cleaned your plates, okay?"  
Considering this thwarting of his plans, Maes frowned a bit—then eagerly tugged at his father's arm. "Eat now! C'mon…go eat and get s'prises! GET UP, DADDY!"  
The phone kiosk was anything but private, but in very few words Ed managed to convey to Roy that he had arrived safely, that the kids were fine and to remind Roy to look for a message in his Manual. Wonder how he'll react, Ed smiled inwardly. It's a scary thing to say…but I mean it and I'm not taking it back. I love the bastard. I love the bastard and I wish the fuck he was here to meet the kids tonight. When Roy told him Hawkeye had some papers that required his attention his cheeks burned and he felt a pleasant answering pressure in his groin at the thought of what could be in a file so incendiary that Hawkeye was keeping it locked in her briefcase. He'd find out soon enough.  
He was still smiling—and a little hard- as he hung up the phone.  
That smile evaporated when he turned around and saw his estranged wife standing behind him, a child on each arm. "Fuck!"  
"Ed! Watch your language!" she scolded.  
"Sorry! You—you surprised me. I…I thought we were meeting tomorrow, and—"  
Then over her shoulder Ed noticed that a crowd of people were converging on Alphonse, wringing his hands, posing for pictures, calling to one another excitedly that Alphonse the Aeronaut had arrived at the station. Women were staring at the handsome young man with shining eyes, children were tugging at his pants legs and men were pressing him to join them for rounds of beer at the station house pub. "No—no thanks, really, that's so kind…I'm here to meet family….okay, one more picture, but I can't keep my family waiting…"  
So that was why she was here.  
Maes looked annoyed. "DADDDDDDY!" he bellowed. "Wanna eat an' get s'prises!"  
Ed glanced into Winry's eyes. She looked awkward, a little guilty. "Okay. Let's go eat, then." He took his son from her arms and she followed him silently into the dining area.  
Sig was shoveling down the mutton with his usual kindly silence. Izumi was enchanted with Nina, cuddling her on her lap and feeding her and wiping smears of gravy off her chin. Granny was keen eye'ed, seated close to Alphonse and watching Winry watching Alphonse…who was studying his brother. Ed was giving his attention to his son, and Al had to smother his laughter at hearing Ed encouraging Maes to drink up his milk.  
"C'mon, son, you gotta drink your milk. Don't wanna end up short, do you?"  
The little face folded tightly in disgust. "Nasty…don't want it."  
Winry's eyes cut to her ex. "Maybe if you drink some too as an example—"  
Ed's eyes blazed. "Why don't you stay out of it?" He turned back to his son. "Maes, let's do this. C'mon, kid. Half a glass and we'll call it good, okay?"  
"Don't bargain with him, Edward, or he'll just get the idea that he can get away with—"  
Pinako cut in quickly. "Winry, please—let's just let it go for tonight—"  
"Maes, drink your milk," Winry ordered firmly.  
Maes glared at his mother. "Daddy says half—"  
Ed leveled his eyes to his son's. "Finish the glass like your mother told-SHIT!"  
At that moment, Maes Urey Elric pulled the little toy wrench out of his little toy tool belt and hit his father across the bridge of his nose. "SHUT UP, ED!" Maes bellowed. "SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!"  
#####  
"Ed, I-  
He held up his hand for silence. For once, she didn't argue.  
He removed a black folder from his briefcase. He chose his next words with great care. "I…want you to take the key to my room and go up where it's quiet. I want you and Granny to sit down and read what's in this folder. When you're done I want you to come downstairs and have the front desk page me. Then," he rose and turned his back to her, 'we'll have that little talk you requested before we end this. See you later."  
Nobody at the table spoke. Finally Edward turned to Hawkeye. "Those papers from Central. The ones from the Fuhrer's office. I'll take those now."  
#####  
Third stall at the end of the row in the gent's washroom.  
The tall man with the swollen red nose locked himself in, lowered the lid, sat down and began to read the letter from his lover.  
"…in my mind, right now, it is late spring at Rose Hill and the night air is so pleasant I've opened the window a crack to let the freshness in. Under the soft down comforter I am still awake, savoring the timelessness of this moment. You have me pinned down with long arms and legs that twine around my own and your breath is warm against my cheek. Your pulse is slow and steady against my chest and my hand idly strokes the hair that I've swept out of your sleeping eyes..  
In the nursery down the hall, all is quiet. Maes is worn out from an afternoon catching beetles in the rose garden and Nina's first experiments in mud-pie making required and extra scrubbing before she was tucked into her crib tonight. In the distance I hear Cirrocco, who has ventured out of her stall for a moonlight stroll in the paddock. She whickers softly in greeting—she knows the Night Watch can be persuaded to share a bite of apple or carrot from their dinners.   
There is soft conversation down the hall—Alphonse is muttering to himself, still debating which notebooks and sketches to pack since you two will be leaving for Drachma in less than a week. That is why I just want to lie here and listen to the night and feel you breathing against my skin. I want to hold these moments and keep them with me when you climb aboard the Xerxes and I salute you as you fly away to spend that much anticipated summer studying at Stoltovgrad University and building gliders. You've made up your mind that you will beat Al and Dr. Chen by making a fixed-wing self-propelled craft capable of flight. You will also be working out your lesson plans for the winter session of Hohenheim Institute of the Collegium of Alexandria, while Alphonse plans some wild expedition that I can't even imagine at this time. Meanwhile, hopefully, I'll be negotiating for peace talks with Creta in the new year in hopes that the bloody turmoil will finally come to a cease-fire and my soldiers can begin coming home.  
But again—right now, there is you. Flying in and out of my life but I am carrying you inside me wherever destiny takes us. I have given you my heart, my body and my utter trust—you have returned it. That is enough and more than enough.   
I know I don't have to put it into words. You hate 'slop and sentiment'. Not fond of it myself. I'll say simply that it will be so good to hold you in the dark again.  
-R"  
Toilet tissue in these parts was highly varnished and not very forgiving to the tender spots it was intended for. But Edward had mislaid his handkerchief somewhere—that's right, he'd wiped the snot off Maes' nose and tucked it into the boy's coverall pockets. Toilet tissue would do to dry his eyes and nose before he closed the file, left the stall, splashed his face with cool water, wiped his glasses, and returned to the table. He would hug his frightened child and tell him, gently but firmly, that he must never, ever, hit anyone like that again. "You're a big brother," he would tell his son. "Big brothers protect people. Would you want anybody to hit Nina like that? No? Then give me your word—pinky promise with me—just like this—promise me you'll always protect people and never hit them. And if you have a big mad, you talk before you hit anybody. Promise, me, son."  
And then…only after that promise had been made…he would seek out the boy's mother…  
….TO BE CONTINUED….


	29. "TELL ME, WINRY..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the brief years of their uneasy marriage, Edward found it easier to leave, evade, ignore and clam up in the face of conflict. But when Maes' temper turns to lashing out in anger, Edward cannot remain silent....and the confrontation Winry has dreaded has come at last...

HALF LIVES, CHAPTER 29: "TELL ME, WINRY…."  
BY THE BINARY ALCHEMIST 2010  
Winry said nothing. She waited for her grandmother to finish. Her hands felt like they had been dipped in the same icy water as her heart, which lurched uncomfortably in her chest. It was exactly the same sick sensation she'd experienced the day Pinako told her that her parents Urey and Sarah would not be keeping their promise to come home safe from the war in Ishbal.  
If Pinako had cried on that terrible day she didn't let Winry see her tears. What Winry did remember was how she chewed and chewed on the stem of her kiseru pipe, working it between her jaws even when it was empty. Just like she was doing right now.  
She put down the file. She snapped it closed. She took her pipe out of her mouth and a single tear slid down her weathered cheek. "If they had lived…maybe…."  
"What…what do you mean, Granny?" Winry ventured cautiously.  
Pinako rose and pushed in her chair. She slipped her pipe in her pocket. She turned to leave. "Granny! Tell me what you mean!"  
Pinako didn't turn around. "There's no point telling you anything now. Or Ed. I did what I could. I'm….sorry…I….I should have-"  
There was a dry sob, like the moan of a rusted hinge, just before she closed the door behind her.  
#####  
"Edward." The hand that rested on his shoulder was capable of great tenderness. He learned that the day she told him it was all right to cry for his mother, for Trisha. But for the balance of his life, she had been his mother, even when he was too stubborn to admit it. "Edward…the children are so beautiful."  
If she had stabbed him through the heart it wouldn't have hurt any less. "Maes—"  
"—will be fine. He will make you as proud of him as you and Al have made me proud."  
"But…you saw—"  
"—what I saw can be changed. But at a cost, Edward. Remember the principle of Equivalent Exchange. You and Winry both know what your children need. Are you willing to make that sacrifice?"  
#####  
It was a private waiting room off the main lobby. The door was glass fronted. There was a small table and two chairs. On occasion, criminals had been detained there in handcuffs by the police. Any other day that thought would have made Winry uneasy, but she would have gladly faced the constable and his shackles rather than this expressionless stranger on the other side of the table. She stumbled in, He gestured silently for her to sit down. She peered nervously out at the waiting room. Riza was there, close enough—a few swift steps to the door in case of trouble. Granny was out there. Her back was turned to the door. Alphonse, Izumi and Sig had taken the children to the Funny Bear Ice Cream parlor for dessert. It was seven-fifty-nine o'clock. The station was otherwise empty. If she screamed, Riza would break down the door. If she cried, Alphonse was not there to comfort her.  
It was just Winry, Edward, the black folder on the table and the ticking of the station clock on the wall behind her head.  
Edward didn't move. He didn't appear to blink. His features were calmly composed and she noted a trace of crusted blood on the inside of his left nostril. The bridge of his nose was swollen and his glasses were bent just slightly askew.  
And he just…stared . And waited as the clock's gears rumbled and the pendulum swayed back and forth and nobody outside made a noise and he didn't blink and he didn't move and she began to sweat as he stared and stared with unblinking eyes of frozen gold. And she began to tear up and her nose began to sting and she bit her lip and she felt a sob well up from the pit of her stomach and she tried to hold it back but it wouldn't and she couldn't and he didn't move or blink or say a word as it rushed up her throat and she made a small helpless wail….  
And the sound of the minute hand advancing another second seemed louder than her own heartbeat.  
"…..Edward….." Her sweaty fingers touched the edge of the file that showed her things she didn't want to see, didn't want to own, because she really wasn't the kind of person that would hit somebody that hard but he kept…staring. And he didn't blink and he didn't move and he didn't say a word and her stomach was really hurting now and her face crumpled up and his name came out again and it sounded like she was begging for something….  
And with a whirr and a soft clacking sound the minute hand advanced another second and when the clock struck eight she could feel it echo through every taut nerve in her body.  
At eight oh five he spoke. "Tell me."  
His words were very soft. Very gentle. They scared her to death.  
"E-Ed?"  
He didn't answer. He sat very still, his cold eyes never leaving her face.  
At eight oh nine he spoke again. "Tell me, Winry." He moved forward a fraction and folded his hands on the table.  
"Tell….tell you what? What is it, Edward?" And she began to shake because she knew, damn it. She knew what he wanted her to say. And she meant it, oh god, she meant it, and she could say it over and over and clasp at his hands and try to kiss them and he would still sit so very…very…calmly.  
At eight-twelve and forty-five seconds, it tore out of her so loudly that Riza turned around and glanced at her. Glanced at her but didn't rise to help her, to save her from this merciless interrogation. "God…Ed…I'm so sorry…sorry-"  
The eyes narrowed a fraction. "And I could care less."  
#####  
Eight-sixteen. There was a low wail of a distant whistle. "Tell me, Winry."  
She was shivering now. He was frightening her. More than Kimblee. More that Scar. More than anything. "D-don't hurt me," she blurted out, pulling back in her chair as if to withdraw from a blow.  
A corner of his mouth lifted a fraction in irony. "Have I ever raised my hand to you? Even to protect myself?" And he turned his head to one side and showed her the spot where the hair was still too short, where alkahestry had sealed bone and flesh, obliterating the crime scene, as Dr. Knox had grumbled, but not the truth of the crime.  
She shook her head and buried her face in her hands, sobbing so hard it choked her. She was whispering his name over and over like a litany—like the prayers Rose repeated before the empty altars of Leto the sun god, beseeching him to bring her lover back to life. Rose' prayers echoed into the candle-lit shadows, heard by no-one, unremarked and unanswered….as did Winry's.  
#####  
Eight-twenty. "Look at me." He did not raise his voice but she did not dare disobey. The eyes were as impassive as ever. "Tell me….Winry….where…did our son learn to hit someone with a wrench…..and where did he learn to say 'shut up, Ed!'?"  
Alphonse…where was Al? Why didn't he come in and help her? He would listen with compassion, hold her hand and somehow get Ed to understand that she was really, really sorry she'd hit him—and that she didn't know Maes was watching…  
#####  
"I don't believe you heard me, Winry."  
The clock chimed the half hour and her heart was hammering in her chest and she was sucking in each breath in shuddering gulps. "Tell me….Winry…where…did…our….son…..learn….to hit someone with a wrench…..and where did he….learn…to say 'shut up, Ed!'?"  
Izumi? Sig? They had her children safe-surely they'd be back shortly and see that Ed still had her in here. They'd worry, wouldn't they? And Izumi would come in and speak firmly to Edward and put the children—her babies—in her arms and Maes would wonder why his mother was crying again…  
#####  
"You haven't answered me. I think I deserve an answer." She thought for a second he'd moved a fraction—maybe he was going to spring forward and choke the confession out of her, wringing it out word by word. He hadn't even shifted his weight and Edward was born restless and couldn't stand still if his life depended on it but he was so still and his voice was so calm and his eyes were so cold and she wanted to run because he frightened her. He was a mirror, she realized at last, and he was reflecting her own shame right back at her.  
#####  
His eyes shifted and she drew back again. He glanced at the clock. "Forty-five minutes." He smiled coldly. "That's how long I've been waiting for you to answer me. We don't have to be in court until 10:00 a.m. I am a very, very patient man when I wish to be. If…I have to sit here…all….night…you're going to answer me. Now," he leaned back in his chair as if settling in for a very long night, "tell me, Winry…WHERE did our son learn to hit someone with a wrench—and where did he learn to say 'shut up, Ed'?"  
#####  
"He learned it from me."  
The clock struck nine.  
"Good answer."  
He rose from his chair. He picked up the file and looked at her one last time. "Think about that."  
And he quietly closed the door behind him.  
#####  
"She's all right."  
Roy knew every nuance in Riza Hawkeye's voice—had done for most of her life. "She's all right" actually meant that nobody had come to blows and Ed would not have to be bailed out of the lockup. "Edward. How—"  
"Maes hit him."  
Fuck. "I see. Is he injured?"  
"Not badly, Sir." "Not badly" as in the damage is on the inside and he's not showing it.  
Goddamn it, he wanted to call—but he also knew that on the dueling field he would only get in the way. "Did you give him—"  
"Yes, Sir. Afterwards."  
Roy sighed. "Thank you, Colonel." Will you call me if he needs me?  
"You're welcome, Sir. Good evening, Sir." You don't have to ask.  
She stepped out of the phone kiosk. Pinako was waiting. "Wanna get an old lady drunk and then drive her home?"  
#####  
He found Al's bags on the bed next to his upstairs. Al came up about twenty minutes later, a cold bottle of ale in each hand. He cast a questioning glance towards the bed as if confirming it was alright to stay here, not to go to the house on the hill with Winry and Pinako and Col. Hawkeye and the kids.  
For the first time since Maes slapped him, he smiled. Then he fell to pieces.  
#####  
She held him the way Trisha would have held him, the way she once held him in the kitchen when he and Al confessed their sins to her. Sitting down on the bed, she cradled him close, his head on her breast, over her heart and she rocked him slowly back and forth, whispering that it was all right, all right to mourn what was lost, to cry for mistakes and foolish notions and for the loss of innocence. That hurt worst of all.  
After a very long time she eased him down and tucked him in. Alphonse had already forsaken the other side of the room and had slipped in beside him, just as when they were children. A cool, damp washrag was folded and laid over his throbbing head and to his everlasting surprise, Izumi bent down and kissed him with a mother's heart and a mother's tenderness. She then brushed Al's soft fringe back from his brow and kissed him too. "Good night, my sons," she called softly as she turned out the light. "Sweet dreams."

Al curled up against Ed's back and his fingers curled around his brother's hand in the dark. Heavy-eyed, Ed stared out the window at the falling rain and waited patiently for daybreak.  
…..TO BE CONTINUED


	30. DECONSTRUCTING US

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Edward and Winry meet before the Magistrate to end their brief marriage, they must make the most wrenching decision of all for the sake of their children....

HALF LIVES CHAPTER 30: DECONSTRUCTING US  
By The Binary Alchemist 2010  
"Five cups of coffee," Pinako informed her, " a B.M. and a smoke. That's all I need to get over a hangover." Riza Hawkeye wished she could say the same. It felt like the entire Drachman army had marched across her tongue in dirty sweat socks and a few of them were still kicking her brain around. She had always been moderate in the few vices she had—Jean Havoc being the rare exception—but nothing had prepared her for a long winter's night at the kitchen table with Pinako Rockbell and a bottle of Stray Dog.  
"Used to drink with Hohenheim. Good looking man. Damn good looking man. Straddled that pole of his once or twice but we never caught fire." Before Riza could stop choking on her drink, Pinako continued. "See, Ed's too goddamn much like his dad. Hohenheim never stopped in one place for any length of time, and when he shacked up with little Trisha Elric he loved her with all his heart but had one foot out the front door all the time. And when those boys came along, he could barely look at them—I told him, 'you bastard—you can make 'em but you can't be a daddy to them, can you?' And he'd get all guilty and morose and Trisha broke her heart to pieces trying to get Hohenheim to be the husband she needed him to be. Never let those boys know. I loved that child—half raised her, then ended up half raising her sons. Half raised Winry—Goddamn it, Riza, was there anything I could have done to raise those kids better? Urey and Sarah spoiled Winry whenever they were home—they loved her so much and felt so bad when they had to leave her. And Ed—he could feel Hohenheim reject him from the cradle so he clung to Trisha—lord, he hated Alphonse when that boy came along! Thought he'd beat him half to death—"  
Riza blinked through the alcoholic haze. Ed—hating Alphonse? "Oh yes, worried Trisha half to death. One day she caught him smashing little Al in the head with a book and when she told Ed to stop he hauled off and back-handed Al right across the face in front of her. Worried her to death, because Ed was so jealous and she was scared he'd get mad and really do Al an injury. Hohenheim had to tell Ed how much Trisha loved him—and then he got ahold of himself and made an effort to care about his little brother. What Ed said to Maes about being a big brother is damn near word for word what Trisha told Ed when he was little. Ed's no fool. He sees himself in that boy and is determined to nip those faults in the bud-but between Winry's short fuse and Ed's restlessness, that boy doesn't have a chance. And poor Nina just begs to be loved—and when Winry doesn't have time to spend with her she turns around and indulges her like Urey did to her. What those kids need is a balance—plenty of love, plenty of guidance, plenty of patience…and plenty of damn time. And I don't know how the hell they're going to get it…"  
#####  
"I'm ready now."  
She looked nice in the outfit she'd bought for court and Maes and Nina were button-bright and fed and all smiles. The same could not be said for their mother who was bleary-eyed and oddly quiet. Maes dashed up to Riza and shouted, "Pinky promise, Aunt Reezie!"  
Wincing as if someone had dragged a rusty iron file across her optic nerves, Hawkeye stuck out her little finger and curled it around Maes', making him shriek with delight! "P'tekt you , Aunt Reezie. I'm a BIG BROTHER!" He stuck out his tiny chest and preened so comically even Winry had to laugh."I guess Ed really got through to him. He's going to protect the world now and pinky promise everybody in sight."  
Pinako nodded. "Not a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all."  
Winry nodded. "Ed…got through to me, too," she said simply. "I guess I've got some growing up to do. And so does Ed."  
"Decided what you're going to do?" Pinako chewed her pipestem thoughtfully. Her granddaughter nodded. "Then let's go."  
#####  
"Let's talk" Ed rose at the head of the table. Everybody but Winry rose to leave. Ed motioned them to sit. "I'm a jerk. Let's get that out of the way. I don't apologize for anything said in our discussion last night—or lack thereof." He nodded to Winry. 'What I do apologize for is my half assed proposal to make you happy. We should have taken longer, satisfied our curiosity and whatever and gotten it out of our systems. We would have figured out sooner that we wouldn't work as a couple. I don't regret the kids. But I regret the hurt I know I caused you and I'm sorry I've lost you as a friend and as family. Now I want to do right by Maes and Nina and put this behind us. Agreed?"  
Winry nodded. "And I'm sorry I took out my anger on you. I should have just admitted I wasn't happy and asked for a divorce. I'm sorry it came to…to my…"  
Ed raised his hand to cut her off. "You've apologized. It's done. You've learned from it and that's what matters."  
"I really hope we can be friends again someday, Ed."  
Ed studied her face carefully for a long, long time. Then he nodded slowly. "Time will tell. You ready?"  
She nodded, dry eyed and surprisingly calm. "Let's go."  
#####  
"It was only a matter of time." The Magistrate took a sip of coffee and glared down at Edward and Winry. "Frankly, I didn't think you'd last this long.." He glanced up and noticed that instead of the customary one witness apiece, the couple had come into this courtroom accompanied by Pinako Rockbell, Alphonse Elric, a Colonel in the Amestrian Army, and a poised, serene faced woman with braided hair. "Is there a reason for all these witnesses?"  
"Yes," said Edward simply. "They're our family."  
"Our children are with their Papa Sig-that's Mr. Curtis," Winry clarified. "Sig helped care for Ed and Al when they were alchemy students with Izumi Curtis."  
The judge nodded. "All right then. I declare this court in session. Now," he shuffled through a stack of papers, " I understand that you two have come before the court to formally petition for the dissolution of the contract of civil marriage. Is that correct?"  
The childhood friends nodded. "Yes, sir. And we've come to amicable terms, which we've outlined in the brief for you."  
Pushing his bifocals further up his nose the Magistrate scanned the papers. "Says here, Winry, that you're moving to Rush Valley to work for Godz Automail Studio. And Edward—you're going to be teaching in Central at the Hohenheim Institute. It also states, Edward, that you are contributing…hmmmph! What appears to be a most generous monthly stipend for the care of your children. And, Winry, I see that you've opted to put this money in trust for the children's future education—is that correct?"  
"Yes sir. I—I don't really need Ed's money. The children will be well provided for. We…well…we both will be contributing to the trust fund be—because…well…we…"  
"We can't do right by our kids." Ed's face burned with humiliation but he didn't shy away from the truth and Winry was nodding in agreement. "Maybe some people our age are grown up enough emotionally to be good parents. But with all the shi—I—I mean, stuff…we've been through and all—"  
"—we wanted to give them a better chance." She bowed her head and cleared her throat to keep her voice from breaking. "I mean…I love them so much…but…sometimes I lose patience too fast. Ed and I fight a lot…the kids didn't need to hear all that."  
Ed's voice was very subdued. "We…stayed together because that's what people do. They stay together even when they aren't happy and put up a front. And…well…seems we didn't hide it so good. Maes has seen us fight…and he's picked up what he's seen. He…" Edward was struggling for the words. He couldn't go on.  
To his surprise, Winry touched him, once, on the shoulder. "Maes and Nina deserve the best they can get. And that's why we've decided…to…let them-"  
"-to let them go," Edward finished. "To foster them with the woman who fostered me and Al—somebody who already loves them so much…" His voice was breaking now and he knuckled the tears out of his eyes. "We're going to foster them with Sig and Izumi Curtis in Dublith."  
"I'll…I'll be really close in Rush Valley, " Winry affirmed. "I can see them several times a month. And when they visit their Dad in Central Granny and Alphonse will be there a lot of the time. Ed's got a new home, and my friend Gracia Hughes and Sheska will be there-and Colonel Hawkeye—they really love her. And," She turned to face Edward, "Edward's partner is there—and he's a good man, an Army officer. He wants to be a part of my children's lives and help raise them. So…maybe it won't be like…like everybody's idea of what a family ought to be-"  
"—it'll be what a family should be. A circle of people who are gonna love these kids and make sure they get a chance to grow up right, you know?"  
#####  
Traditionally, when the registry is signed, the gavel bangs down and the union is declared dissolved, the former husband and wife exit left and right, respectively, through opposite doors, symbolic of the conclusion of their union.  
Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell walked out the front door at the same time. Not together—Pinako and Col. Hawkeye were with Winry and Izumi and Alphonse were with Edward—but they knew that when they exited the courthouse Sig Curtis—now Poppa Sig—would be waiting there on the front steps with the children they had brought into this world. And more important than their own feelings was their mutual decision to think of their children's feelings first. On that front—if only on that front-they stood in perfect agreement. And they looked on as a smiling, teary-eyed Nana 'Zumi knelt down with her arms joyfully outstretched and little Maes barreled out of Sig's arms to give her a big hug and smear a wet kiss on her cheek before rushing to his father, who swung him up in the air and tickled him just as Winry hugged Nina tightly, blotting her damp eyes on her daughter's dark hair.  
#####  
His older brother stared out the window, eyes on where they were heading, not where they had been. Al realized they'd always ridden like that. Al lingered in the sweetness of memory but Ed—Edward, whose torch burned down their childhood home—his mind was always on the next destination, the newer horizon. No sooner had he arrived anywhere he was glancing at his watch, flipping the pages of the railway timetable or pouring over a map, his bags only half unpacked.  
In the end, Winry never truly learned to accept this. Roy—older and more worldly-wise—seemed to take it in stride. And Alphonse felt that same restlessness in his bones now. Brother was right, he concluded. Time to follow my dreams and see the world. Time for her to follow her dreams and be the best she can be. If, in the end, we circle back together—that would make me happy…very happy. But if not…at least I've figured out something important about love: the real proof is not who we cling to…but who we care enough to set free….I guess…  
#####  
He was numb. He drank his coffee. He wasn't really aware that he had eaten anything until it occurred to him that there was a sticky mess of half-chewed chicken that needed to be swallowed. He spoke little. Read little. Thought little. It was as if the over-active engine of Edward Elric's mind had shifted into neutral and he needed to be there.  
I let them go. And they will be better off.  
Teacher will love them—already loves them. She never had children of her own. It's what she's always wanted.  
I let them go…they'll be fine…  
Winry can get her shit together. She'll be fine…maybe better…even a little relieved not to have to cope with raising two kids with an absentee father.  
I let them go…it's okay..  
I can see them. I will see them, a lot. Roy will be so good for them, I know he will. And they're gonna love Rose Hill and the horses and the garden, just like Roy said in his letter.  
I let them go. And a part of me—a part of me I don't want to own- is glad and relieved.   
Does that make me as bad as my father?  
….they'll…be fine….  
….but will I?  
#####  
He locked the office door behind him instinctively. Roy rose swiftly from behind his desk and hurried to his side, hands curling around Edward's shoulders. He recognized the expression on that well loved face. In Ishbal we called it battle fatigue. When a soldier has been pushed beyond reasonable endurance. I must have looked like that the night Maes saw me shot in the chest by our former comrade Heathcliff, that Ishballan we trained with. My alchemist's watch was in my breast pocket and stopped the bullet. But in a horrible instant he thought I'd been killed and so had I. That was the day I realized that everything I knew and believed was wrong—but I kept on fighting.   
And that's what Ed's been doing these brief years. He knew it wasn't right for him or Winry—but they both kept at it. They stayed on the battlefield. At least now they've come to their senses and their children have a chance for a better life.  
Roy touched his breast pocket. "I have your note."  
Ed touched the front of his waistcoat. "I have your letter." He leaned forward wearily and rested his forehead against his lover. "I'm tired," he whispered. He guided Roy's hand inside his waistcoat where the letter was folded over Edward's heart.  
"It would be so good to hold you in the dark.."  
…..TO BE CONCLUDED…


	31. CONCLUSION: SPRING EQUINOX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward has made his decision: no "half lives". He and Roy have set out to create a new life together. Now, shortly before they make their state visit to Aerugo, there is one last promise to be kept...

HALF LIVES, Ch. 31-CONCLUSION: SPRING EQUINOX  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010  
There's nothing immediate about Spring. Nobody throws a switch and the weather is temperate and sweet, the snow and bitter winds disappearing in an instant. Spring is subtle—it was there all along beneath the frost and dead leaves, but we can't always see it, being too distracted by our miserable shivering.  
But in spite of our best self-willed efforts to cling to despair, Spring will sneak up from behind, tap us playfully on the shoulder and whisper in our ears that life is sweet—that it is to be cherished and savored….and that Life Will Go On, regardless of how wise or foolish our lives are.  
The numbness lingered for days after Ed's return to Central. "It's not you," he whispered in dark, burrowing his face into his lover's chest after the exhausting ride in from Resembool, grateful that the darkness cloaked his shame and humiliation that his body was too numb to respond although his heart was more than willing.  
Roy's hand tenderly cupped the softness between his lover's thighs. "I know." His hand moved in slow strokes meant to give comfort, not to arouse. He'd been like this after battle, when even Maes' clever mouth couldn't make his cock rise. "Don't even worry about it. Right now," the hand slid up and rested over Ed's heart, "the pain's still fresh over letting the kids go—and ending a relationship is never easy, even under the best of circumstances. Give it time, Ed."  
"—but it's not fair to you, and—"  
"—Edward, I love you. Now shut up, close your eyes and go to sleep." And, eventually, the soothing sounds of heartbeat and soft snoring would lull Edward's mind away from that restless fretting over his children and he would drift into an uneasy sleep.  
On the fourth day after he returned from Resembool he found a round trip ticket to Dublith on his breakfast plate instead of bacon and eggs. "Go see them. Set your mind at rest," Roy told him, adding that before Edward bolted up from the table and raced for the station it might be nice if he would pass the strawberry jam down to Roy's end of the table if it wasn't too much to ask. Instead of jam he got a kiss so fierce it bruised his bottom lip and a hurried, semi-profane endearment—something along the lines of "fuckin' mind-reader—love you" before Ed galloped up the stairs to pack, nearly knocking Dr. Chen on his backside as the older man came down from his suite to join the Fuhrer and his household for breakfast.  
Twenty minutes later he returned to the table sans suitcase and poured himself a cup of coffee. Alphonse gave his brother an odd look and consulted his watch. "Brother, you'll never make the 9:20 to Dublith if you don't leave now," he fretted. "There won't be another train until after three and you wouldn't get into town until almost midnight."  
Ed glanced up. His eyes looked somewhat moist and he was smiling. A letter was passed down the table to his younger brother. "Sebastian wanted me to see the morning post before I left. I was gonna tell him to fuck off until I read the letter on top."  
Roy carefully schooled his smug expression, becoming very intrigued with his coffee and hotcakes as Alphonse read the missive aloud—the one scribbled in an all too familiar handwriting and postmarked "Rush Valley":  
"Edward—  
I know you probably might not want to get into any discussions with me these days—but Riza said that it would be better for you to hear this from me than from her.  
She said—and I guess she's right—that you're worried about the kids. That maybe you're worried that we made the wrong decision about fostering Maes and Nina with the Curtises. You need to quit worrying about that. Riza and I have been to see them before she leaves for Central and if you had seen what we saw you'd know we did the right thing.  
Izumi loves our kids so much—you can see it in her eyes. Maes follows her around like a little shadow and if he gets frustrated or about to throw a tantrum he does what you told him—he tells her "I have a mad, Nana" and then they talk about it—and then she gets him into some physical exercise. He's so funny in the yard, trying to copy her when she does her kata movements. He loses his balance and falls down but then he gets back up and keeps at it. And he actually drank his milk at dinner! He will announce that he hates it and it tastes nasty but she reminds him that if he wants to be big and strong like Daddy and Uncle Al he needs to do it and to drink it down fast and get it over with. And he does it! Can you believe it?  
And Nina has Sig wrapped around her little fingers. I knew Izumi wanted kids but I didn't know how much Sig wanted a little girl until I got to watch them together. She didn't have one crying fit the whole time we were there. Sig bought some kind of Ishballan sling that they carry babies in and she rides on his chest when he's not minding the store. And she's trying to talk and she giggles all the time and Maes wants her first words to be 'big brother'.  
But the very best part is at bedtime Sig and Izumi get out a scrapbook of pictures and show them to the kids, making up stories to tell them about the people in their lives. There are pictures of Granny in Resembool and me with Paninya and Mr Garfiel in Rush Valley. There are pictures of Al and the Xerxes. And there are pictures of you and Roy together. They are told, "Daddy and Uncle Roy live in the big city. Daddy is a teacher and he loves to travel all over the world and learn new things. Uncle Roy is a brave soldier who helps take care of everybody in Amestris. They live in a big house called Rose Hill with a fish pond and a garden with swings in it and a pretty horse named Cirrocco. Daddy and Uncle Roy love Maes and Nina very, very much." Izumi had gotten a letter from you and added it to the story. She always ends it by saying, "Some children have one parent to love them. Some children have two. But Maes and Nina are so very, very wonderful that they have a big, big family that loves them more than anything and they all will live happily ever after—TOGETHER."  
That made me cry, and Riza, too.   
That's when I stopped worrying. You should too.   
-Winry"  
Alphonse stared at the letter for a long, long time after his last words faded away. He had given his promise and made his choice. He wasn't going to wait for her to grow into the person she was meant to be….but maybe…just maybe…  
"Al? Pass the coffee, willya?" Ed was now giving his lover a suspicious look. "You know anything about that letter coming this morning before you ordered the goddamned ticket?"  
Roy licked a stray drop of syrup from his thumb. "Oh, come on, Ed—I have a country to run. Do you think I've got time to pull strings in your life too?"  
"Bastard."  
Roy smirked into his third cup of coffee and casually flipped through his personal correspondence.  
Then he spluttered so hard he nearly choked.  
"What the hell?" Ed stared at him. "What's with you?"  
This time Ed was reading a family letter aloud:  
"Roy-Boy—  
I know how lonely you must have been with Ed in Resembool this week and that got me to thinking what a very sad thing it must be to be all alone without anyone to care about you. That brought to mind your old friend Frank Archer. Poor bastard, all alone in his little cell with no playmates to keep him entertained. He seemed like such a lonely fellow…and so I asked the local Magistrate—one of my best private customers—what we could do to make Frankie feel a bit more welcome. He informed me that there was a 'special cell' for the—what did he call 'em? The 'Lonely Boys'. A cell full of really big, really lonesome lifers who don't have any girlfriends on the outside. I told him that Frankie was a pretty young man who didn't appear to have a girlfriend either—and he would really be doing me a favor if he'd somehow arrange for Frankie to be moved in with Big Lonely Bob, Big Lonely Phil, Big Lonely Knuckles and Big Lonely Bruce. That will leave one extra bunk-I can't imagine how they will work out their sleeping arrangements, can you? Of course, what he DOESN'T know is that the Lonely Boys are actually missionaries for the Letoists...vegetarians, celebates, pulpit pounders and reformists. He'll be up to his ass in hymns to the sun god....six months and he'll be begging to be put in with the hard-timers, just to get some peace and quiet.  
In the meantime...he's going to be terrified, scared to death he'll be pencilled in to their dance cards as Belle of the Ball...I figure a good scare will be 'equivalent exchange' for the humiliation he put his girls through, don't you agree?  
-Aunt Chris"  
#####  
"HEY! Where the hell are you?"  
"Up here, Ed."  
The downstairs looked like Sloth had torn through the place….well, maybe not that bad, but it took a fair amount of climbing-over and slithering past and try-not-to-trip-and-bust-your-ass-ing to make it to the third floor residential suite. There was an elevator, needless to say and the dumbwaiter in the kitchen would save Sebastian quite a lot of dashing around getting private meals to the Presidential Suite at Rose Hill. Right now, though, it was, as Chef Ramsay had declared, "a buggerin' clusterfuck' getting the old stuff moved out, the house quintuple-checked for security hazards and wiretaps and bugs before the first and second floors were empty and ready for final inspection. Roy had requested that the place be cleaned out from the top down, so that he and Ed would have a little time to look over the suite before leaving for Aerugo. If all went well, when they returned it would be to their new address.  
When Ed bounded up the stairs and into the Presidential suite the first thing that struck him was the view. The diamond-paned windows , edged with Gilded Era stained glass, overlooked the gardens—more formally referred to as The Park. Now that the snow had melted Ed could appreciate just how wonderfully it had been laid out while preserving the natural beauty of the land. Unlike the Armstrong Eyesore, as Roy loved to call it, Rose Hill's avenues of ancient trees, water gardens teaming with wildlife, rose gardens and serpentine fences seemed to embrace the visitor, not blind him with gold leaf and marble. And the inside was even better—warm light, inlaid parquet wood floors, and the bedroom and its private sitting room featured oak and marble fireplaces that gave Ed lascivious ideas about what could be done in front of them on chilly nights.  
The suite was bare, but the hearth was dusted and there was wood laid out as if awaiting the arrival of His Excellency. A quick peek in the bathroom showed a modern flush toilet, big marble sinks and a tub large enough to backstroke in. The same courteous person who had set out the hearth—Sebastian, no doubt—had laid out thick towels, guest toiletries, two bath robes and cakes of Roy's preferred bathing soap. There was even a pair of straight razors, shaving brushes and new mugs of shaving soap. "Damn…nice touch," Ed whistled. "What—did he think we were going to camp out up here? Downstairs looks like the place has been bombed."  
If Ed had noticed Roy's reflection in the window panes he'd have caught the mischievous smile that hinted that Roy knew exactly why Sebastian had laid out such items for their comfort—including a generous bottle of a certain sweet oil that lent itself conveniently to immoral purposes and a thick feather-stuffed duvet that could be folded into a makeshift pallet to protect Ed's back from the bare floor. "Chalk it up to the efficiency of our staff. Now," he opened the window a fraction to let in a whisper of early spring air, "was there something you needed?"  
"Yeah. You." Instead of one face, the sparkling diamond panes now reflected two, one peering over the other's shoulders, turning to murmur softly in the other man's ear. "I've come to a conclusion, Mustang. Wanna hear it?"  
The older man's lip curled upwards. "You have me pinned to the wall and there's a rather hard object jabbing me in the seat of my trousers. If you've concluded that Amestris would be better off without me-and this is an assassination attempt-your aim is disgraceful. My heart," Roy kissed and guided his lover's hand inside his jacket, "is right here." Ed could feel that strong steady pulse accelerate as he pressed his hips closer, shivering when he felt Roy press back. "Was it my heart you were aiming for, hmmmmmm?"  
"I want it all."  
"Beg pardon?"  
The voice in his ear was low and urgent. "No more fuckin' half lives. I can't do that shit and I was fuckin' stupid to think I could. And I'm not gonna divide my heart up like Hughes did to you. It's not right. It's not fair. Maybe," Ed's hands slid across Roy's chest, pulling him closer, "I'm gonna spend a lot of my time exploring—learning new stuff and bringing it back to the Institute. Maybe Al and I will go to Xing—or we could be the first men to cross the ocean and see what's out there—if there is anything out there to see. And you made a pledge to give everything you've got to take care of this fucked up country of ours. But still-" his voice dropped low—he was pleading now—"can't we make this work? In spite of all this—If…if…I give you the whole of my life…what can you give me back?"  
The refection of the dark haired man in the glass was smiling at the reflected image of his golden eyed lover—lover, partner, friend—life companion…did there even need to be a name for what they were to each other now?"  
What would Roy Mustang give his lover in return for a whole life?  
"Everything."  
#####  
Edward had gone over and over the pages in For You, For Him, And For Us, underlining and when he couldn't find an answer he discreetly slipped over to Spenser's Emporium, a small and very elegant shop that that was 'open 7pm to Midnight and By Special Appointment" where Auntie Chris told him kindly old Mr. Spenser would cheerfully answer any questions regarding the Art of Masculine Love over hot tea and really excellent plum cake. The older man had listened to Ed's panicked questions, patted him on the shoulder and told him "my dear—if you love each other, it will all come out all right. Don't fret yourself limp, now—just remember if it feels good to you—it will fee good to him too."  
And it did, too.  
A blaze on the hearth crackled merrily as Ed began undoing the buttons on the crisply starched shirt. He was surprised—and touched—to find that scrap of scrawl bearing the worlds, love you, bastard in Roy's breast pocket. "Bet that tub's big enough for both of us to stretch out in it." He bit gently on a hardened nipple. "Let's go find out, okay?"  
Love you, Bastard. He'd written that on a bit of paper that Roy carried over his heart. Now Edward mouthed those words against hot, damp skin that smelled deliciously of sandalwood soap and spices and wood smoke and Roy, sucking and savoring his way from collar to the tight navel he nipped playfully at before catching the tongue of Roy's zipper between his teeth and awkwardly tugging it down. "Remember that first time?" Ed rubbed his cheek against the swollen manhood. "I made you come in your pants just from kissing my body….you're about to do the same damn thing to me." Two fingers gently tugged back the soft, moist skin so that a greedy tongue could slide under it and tease the glistening tip. "Mmmmm….but I don't wanna do that…I…mmmmmmgod…so good!….I'm gonna come inside you…." A tongue tip strummed across that maddening spot right under the head where the foreskin joined the shaft and Roy's hips bucked frantically. Ed held him down with a soft, commanding growl. Pausing, he consulted the label on the vial of oil Sebastian had left them. "Thank god this crap is non-toxic. Damn shame we're out of butter."  
He tenderly laved the sensitive opening he had lovingly soaped in the tub they had shared before stretching out on the pallet before the fire. He sucked gently and when Roy groaned and spread his thighs wider he began to suck harder, stabbing with his tongue and pausing now and again to pepper the buttocks he stretched apart with kisses and soft nips, his tongue snaking down to flick and tease the balls that hung tantalizingly, pulling them into his mouth and cradling them on his tongue as his oiled finger carefully breached the tightness that was tempting Edward so badly his cock felt like it would burst before he got anywhere near it.  
Roy was panting hard, fingers digging into the folded comforter, which muffled his cries and was damped by sweat and the thick salty drops that oozed from his rigid and badly neglected cock. "Goddamn…do you have any idea how good you feel around my fingers?" Ed purred. Two fingers now circled and stretched and massaged the rings of muscle that twitched above his knuckles. "It's…damn…it's like hot, wet silk…I can't believe how soft it is…and…when I think about putting my cock in there…just sinking into you…and feeling this…right here….feeling this around the head of my cock….goddamn, you're gonna kill me…nothing is supposed to feel that damn good…"  
"You do." Roy lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder, fixing his lover with a smoldering glance of raw need and seduction. "You…you…said….you wanted…it all…no half lives….no—OH FUUUUCK! N-no…half…THERE! SHIT! Right there!….no…h-h-al-f…m-m…fuuuckkkk…EDWARD!" His head whipped back and a ragged wail of hunger echoed through the empty room. "TAKE IT….take it all…don't make me wait…hurry…I can't stand it any…AAAAHHHHHHHHHGGGHHHH!"  
"Mine…" He had to stop. He had to hold perfectly still or he would not survive this…he would die right here and now with the tip of his cock clenched inside his mate…how the hell did Roy do this to him, over and over, without his heart bursting in his chest from excitement? The smell…the taste of skin and sweat and the thrill of knowing that the tiniest stroke of tongue tip or finger or the gentlest press of a cockhead against something wonderful inside someone else could eclipse Edward's world into a circle big enough for only two—and that this strong, beautiful man who now sobbed and bucked against his groin, grinding and circling and urging Edward on with wild cries—that this man wanted all of Edward, good and bad, present and absent, now and forever. No conditions. No holding back. Roy wanted all that Edward was and could be, wanted to fuck him and surrender in return, and to go the distance as long as they lived…and Roy would give full measure in return.  
Each slap of his balls against his lover's buttocks was a jolt to his senses. Each out stroke and that maddening tightness squeezed him from base to tip and made his senses reel. He had enough presence of mind to grope blindly around his lover's hip to capture that dripping steel, to give Roy that sweet friction so that they could soar over the edge together, but Roy slapped his hand away. "No…I want to…just from this…just…from…you,…"  
And it was those words that took Edward past the point of no return…  
#####  
"Claudio's an arrogant ass. I've never liked him." Roy quickly scanned Sebastian's packing list for the trip to Aerugo before initialing it.  
"Tough shit, Mr. President. Put up or shut the fuck up." Ed adjusted his gloves—the right one had extra insulation against the cold. It never felt quite his, even now. "You sure you don't want to just send a decoy on the train and fly with us in the Xerxes?"  
"I'm sure it would make a splendid front picture for the Central Times—you and Al and Chen-san waiving to the adoring masses while I vomit all over the heads of press. Now," he adjusted the high collar of Ed's flight jacket, "if Frank Archer were in the crowd I might risk my dignity, but—"  
"—his dance card is getting filled every night by the Lonely Boys. And mine's not going to get filled for days," he bitched. "See, if you came aboard the Xerxes we could join the Ten Thousand Meter club—"  
"The what?"  
Ed grinned wickedly. "Al started it when he started taking some of those lonely court concubines up for short flights. He says you've never really done it until you're ten thousand meters in the air and the girl's got her legs-"  
Roy shuddered. "Spare me the details of your brother's debaucheries. I'm beginning to wonder if you're going to be safe with him in Drachma. God knows what he and Alexi and the others are going to get you in to. Remember, Ed, you're a representative of our country—and if you get your ass into trouble in Drachma…I'll be forced to send Olivier Armstrong to get you out. She wouldn't like that…and you'd like it less."  
Ed held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, no worries. I'm not going out whoring with my kid brother—although if I get lonely I might find a nice Adult Emporium and find something that could fill—"  
"—HEY!"  
"—my time. See if I can find something close to you in size-although I don't think they sell 'em that-"  
"-you'd better stop right there, Ed, or so help me, I'll—"  
They were interrupted by a soft ahem from Sebastian. "Sir" Your brother is waiting. Your Excellency? Major Havoc is waiting to drive you and Colonel Hawkeye to the station. I'll be following and will check on you once you're aboard." He bowed to Edward and smiled. "I have taken the liberty of packing a very nice luncheon and dinner basket for the crew for today's flight. Have a safe journey, Master Edward, and we will meet you in Aerugo."  
"Thanks." He shook his head as the butler headed downstairs to load the provisions aboard the airship. "Uh….listen…you got your Owner's Manual?"  
Roy gestured towards his briefcase. "Yes. New entries?"  
Ed flushed. "Yeah. I shot 'em in the bathroom mirror, so they might be-"  
"-steamy?"  
"In more ways than one."  
"Mmm. I'll be interested in reading your…de-briefing. And yours has some I took with a tripod in the stable. On horseback."  
Ed snortled with rude amusement but his cock twitched in sincere interest. "Kinky bastard." He touched the front of his flight jacket. "I have your letter."  
Roy touched the breast pocket of his greatcoat. "I have your note. I'll see you in San Celestini after we cross the border into Aerugo. We'll rendezvous at the inn."  
"Be safe. I'll see you no later than Thursday night," They kissed swiftly.  
"See you there-and if I'm late wait for me, will you. It will be so good to hold you in the dark again…."

THE END…of HALF LIVES  
HOWEVER….  
"WHOLE LIVES" Is Only Beginning…..  
TO BE CONTINUED….


End file.
